


And Now You Must Endure

by WombatPumpkin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Codex Entries (Dragon Age), Dragon Age Lore, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not A Fix-It, Post-Book: Dragon Age - Asunder, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Pre-Dragon Age: The Dread Wolf Rises, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 21,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28753416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WombatPumpkin/pseuds/WombatPumpkin
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan is dying, the anchor finally demanding its due. Her Inquisition sits precariously within the world order, its allies slow to act against Fen'Harel who has remained steps ahead since the Exalted Council. Dalish clans continue to disappear without a trace, rumors spread of shadowy monsters stalking the night, and cracks form in the relative peace the Inquisitor and her companions fought to create. As whispers from an old god call to Lavellan from across the Veil, the Inquisition must now move forward and plan for a world without its Herald.
Relationships: Cole/Maryden Halewell, Evangeline de Brassard/Rhys, Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus (Referenced)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“The trail of the missing leads here.” Commander Cullen prodded a finger at the Tevinter and Navarra border illustrated on the map spread across the war table. The map was well-worn from years of use, currently tacked with pins and crosses marking the Elvhen peoples’ last known locations. Marks like wraiths rising from the depths of the Fereldan wilds, weaving across to Orlais, inching their way through Navarra, and bleeding into the Tevinter Highway. Leliana and Inquisitor Lavellan huddled close as they listened to Cullen’s report, dark circles beneath their eyes from the many nights of long deliberations, the endless circular conversations chasing ghosts. Josephine meanwhile paced the room, jotting down notes restlessly, her face also weary with fatigue. 

“And our Peace Keepers encountered more Fen’Harel zealots at these forward camps,” Cullen prodded three markers at Nevarra’s northern border.

A small fire burned in the chimney, filling the air with smoke that made Cullen sneeze from time to time. Cold rain tapped on the window, and every so often a chill would still the warmed air, prompting one of the council to stoke the fire. The leaves outside were just beginning to turn and fall, the days and nights oscillating between warm and cold. Today was unseasonably frosty. 

Lavellan frowned as she watched Cullen place the new markers on the map. Ten clans missing according to the new report, a sudden burst when there had previously been only two to three every few months. A cool sweat rimmed Inquisitor Lavellan’s forehead, but she ignored it, though she was unable to suppress the shiver that ran the length of her spine. 

“Another log for the fire?” Leliana asked and Lavellan gave a quick nod. The Spy Master moved to the fireplace, and she tossed wood onto the smoldering pile. The  _ pop  _ and  _ hiss  _ of sparks precluded a small curl of gray smoke that drifted about the room. A faint whisper seemed to linger on even as the fire settled, its words just out of reach. Lavellan pursed her lips and quietly tried to block out the sighs and hushed voices. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Leliana asked, pausing at her friend’s side.

“I’m fine, thank you. Just a touch of hay fever. Fills my head with fog sometimes,” the Inquisitor said, turning her back to the flames and soaking up the heat.

“Clans have vanished here, here, and now along here,” the Commander continued, his eyes watering and nose dripping slightly, “All in the past four to five weeks alone. I recommend we send twenty additional Peace Keepers to the Nevarran border with supplies. The local townsfolk could use as many eyes and hands as we have available to help in their search.” Cullen exhaled in disbelief and ran a hand through his hair. ”Maker’s breath, he hasn’t been subtle this time, and that worries me.” The commander’s voice held an edge of unease as he traced the route again with his finger, pausing at each marker as if willing those missing at each to reach out.

“We do not know for sure that Fen’Harel is behind these disappearances. Nothing has been confirmed by my agents, and there have been no direct sightings of him for over five years,” Leliana said while Josephine thumbed through her notes, nodding solemnly. “Officially or not, however, it does seem likely. He remains always a step ahead,” she continued in a softer and troubled voice.

“We know it, even if we don’t  _ know  _ it.” Cullen said, eyeing Leliana who pursed her lips. 

_ Truth. _

Leliana braced the war table as she stared into the middle distance, a frown deepening the corners of her mouth while a tick pulsed in her jaw. Lavellan could see how lined the Spy Master’s face had become in the last few years, stress and time digging into her skin, her flush of red hair whitening in places. The Inquisitor looked upon her friend’s tired scowl and felt her exhaustion. 

“Why is he making his way to Tevinter?” asked Inquisitor Lavellan, shifting her weight and wincing slightly. “Tevinter has never been kind to the Elves. I don’t think it likely he will win favor there, and I don’t think him likely to seek their aid anyway.”

“There may be other reasons,” Leliana answered, pushing herself up from the table and folding her arms behind her back as she thought, “Corypheus wanted Tevinter’s power. There is magic there that the rest of Thedas fears to use, magical artifacts that may be locked away in some Magister’s private collection, perhaps. After Solas lost the orb, he may be seeking some other artifact.”

“We also can’t forget that Tevinter enslaved and killed most of the Dalish in the North,” Cullen added, “Perhaps old elven knowledge has gotten lost in the millenias of bloodshed.”

“Or perhaps he seeks revenge for past wrongdoings,” Josephine added, folding her arms and nearly upsetting the candle on her clipboard.

“Revenge would maybe explain the sudden jump in missing clans. He’s building an army,” Cullen exhaled heavily. 

“A war...against Tevinter. By an old Elven God? What could that even look like?” Josephine said.

_ It is time.  _ Lavellan swatted the air by her ear as if batting away a fly.  _ Ara ma’athlan vhenas. _

“Not good,” Cullen murmured.

“Will Dorian be returning to Skyhold any time soon?” Lavellan asked Leliana. “Perhaps he has more information from the ground.”

“I am unsure when exactly, though I believe he intends a return. I am expecting a letter from him any day now.”

“Excellent. Let me know if he plans a return.”

“Of course,” Leliana inclined her head. 

“While we wait on news from Dorian, what of Fen’Harel?” the Commander pressed on. “What can we do now? People, good people, continue to vanish. We don’t have any leads and I’m not sure waiting for his next move is wise.”

“I agree,” Josephine nodded. “We must do something and try to learn more. Perhaps it is time we threw some caution to the wind.” 

Leliana gasped in mock horror, “You mean you’re in favor of finding a way forward that isn’t the most intricate and convoluted? Josie, I am shocked!”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Come now, I am not  _ so  _ slow to act. Not always.” Josephine cleared her throat, a touch of a smile teasing her lips. “But there may yet be time for me to make things complicated.”

“I have to agree with the Ambassador,” the Commander said, a grin in his voice, “We must try to force the situation. I think Divine Victoria would quite agree.” 

“Alright,” Lavellan nodded her approval, “But Solas may expect this.” The Elvhen woman looked at the war table and shook her head. “This,” she gestured to the marks on the map, “Feels like a message.”

“A trap perhaps?” Leliana asked. The Inquisitor looked from the Spy Master to the table, shaking her head thoughtfully. “Or he also wishes to learn something about us in forcing our hand.”

“It is possible. I don’t see what other options we have, though. We need to gather more information.” Lavellan sighed heavily, closing her eyes as the muscles in her shoulder and back twitched.

“And that means risks,” Cullen added and he sighed. “It is dangerous. Can he even be defeated? Killed? If we were to cross him now, what would we do?” Lavellan could see the fire from the chimney reflected in the commander’s eyes, an amber light that flickered back and forth as the gears whirled in his head. 

“Beating an ancient god is not easy, but we have done it before,” Leliana mused with a little satisfaction.

“But perhaps there is another way to defeat him,” the Inquisitor posed, “Beyond killing Solas. Weaken him, maybe? Solas once told me that he was his own person for a time, and then the Dread Wolf came to him. I saw Flemeth take the soul of an old Elvhen god from Morrigan’s son. There may be a way to separate the Evanuris’s soul from the man. Perhaps then we could defeat Fen’Harel.”

“That is an interesting thought,” Josephine agreed, arching an eyebrow. 

Commander Cullen seemed less thrilled, grimacing as he said, “It’s a theory, but I’ve never heard of...separating souls from bodies? It sounds like dangerous magic.”

“Were we not just talking about taking risks?” Leliana raised an eyebrow at Cullen who grunted. “I think it’s worth looking into, at the very least.”

Lavellan clenched her fists, her jaw tightening as a dull pulse began ticking away in her temple. She shook her head to clear it. 

“Leliana,” the Elvhen woman ordered, “Have some of your agents contact the few remaining elves in the Tevinter area and see if they’ve anything further about the missing clans, or if perhaps they know of some old legends that could be of use. I may also visit the clans myself. Josephine, reach out to your connections and see what books on the Dalish they may have in their private stores. The older and more valuable, the better. Cullen, I would like you to double the Peace Keeping presence along the border. Try to win us some allies. Have our Keepers bring food, water, medicine, anything that might help. Hire more people if you must. I will contact the Div-”

Lavellan’s speech slurred as her head swam, the edges of her vision blurring. Sweat ran from her forehead, stinging her eyes which squeezed together tightly. The Inquisitor felt her skin crawling with heat, creeping its way into her bones, and her remaining hand came to pick at the soft cloth covering her removed forearm. Something within her lurched, drawn inward, sucked down and down and down into a deep darkness. Then a gentle hand emerged and lay upon her back, steadying her as she swayed.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice cut through the ringing that had built in the Herald’s ears, jolting her back into sharp awareness.

“We can continue this later,” Josephine said urgently, looking around for a chair to pull over. “We have our orders. You need to rest. I will call for a healer immediately.”

“No, no,” the Inquisitor said, clearing her throat and steadying herself against the war table as the wave passed over her. She still felt something pulling her inward, quieter than before, but it called to her as if she were metal and it a magnet. “I’m fine. It’s only hay fever. I’ll rest once this is done.”

“Lady Herald, you can’t be serious,” Josephine chided, dragging a chair over from the corner and pushing it behind the Herald’s knees. “Please, take care of yourself. Sit! Until the healer arrives.”

“I’m fine, Josephine. We need to continue. Give us ten more minutes, and then I will lie down. And I can’t see the war table well while sitting.”

Josephine shook her head and stared imploringly at Cullen and Leliana. “This is unwise.”

“Josephine is right,” Cullen said. “You haven’t been well for weeks, months now. Do not strain yourself needlessly.”

“What about this is needless, Commander? People are missing!  _ My  _ people are missing. Orlais won’t help. Fereldan won’t help. Nobody wants to risk a war with Tevinter, and we’re the only ones with enough guts to do  _ something!” _ Lavellan snapped at the group, frustration bubbling over. She was shaking, from fever or emotion she couldn’t say. “Ten minutes. We can manage ten minutes, can’t we?” 

“Can’t we?” Leliana said, her lips tight. 

“I’ve been through worse. I just need sleep,” the Inquisitor pressed, crossing her arm over her chest and settling herself into a firm stance.

“It’s like arguing with a child, sometimes,” Josephine tossed one hand in the air. “Fine. But I’m still getting you a healer when this is done!”

“Fair enough,” Lavellan conceded, but moved away from the chair. 

“Let’s see what we can find,” Leliana said, watching Inquisitor Lavellan with uncertainty before turning her attention back to the map. “I will have my agents contact the clans, as you request. We will also try to find what we can on the Elven legends.”

“Say we find something in these legends about separating souls,” Josephine asked. “Say we do manage the incredible feat of capturing the Dread Wolf and separate Solas from Fen’Harel. What do we do after we have separated them?”

“Kill them, naturally. What else do you do with destroyers of worlds?” Commander Cullen said, scratching his nose and pushing back a sneeze. “The hope is to weaken both enough to manage such a feat.” 

“But if we can remove the Dread Wolf, would we even need to kill Solas?” Lavellan asked, feeling a sudden desperate pang in her stomach that she hoped hadn’t crossed her face. “We strip him of his powers and he’ll have nothing left.”

“Do you truly think he deserves to live, Inquisitor Lavellan? For what he’s done?” the Commander asked incredulously.

“I...I don’t know,” Lavellan said, a heavy weight pressing on her chest.

“The two have been joined for who knows how many millennia. They may be one in the same at this point, even if we  _ can _ separate them,” the Commander reasoned. 

“The people harmed by Fen’Harel deserve justice, Inquisitor, ” said Josephine, then carefully added, “But a trial may also satiate them. Defeat and slay the god, and let the people see the man responsible for their suffering punished for what he has done.”

“You can’t just lock a man like that up!” Commander Cullen protested, crossing his arms.

“But the man trapped by Fen’Harel may not be so guilty,” the Inquisitor pleaded, “When Solas is free of the Wolf, if he can be freed, he may have a different story to tell. I’m not giving up on Solas. Not yet, not until I see what’s possible.” Lavellan’s voice had risen as she spoke, her heart hammering in her ears.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana whispered in a warning tone, “Do not allow what feelings you may still have for Solas to cloud your judgement. Our influence is not what it once was, and our ability to sway global politics is precarious. We must make all our actions count, no matter the cost, and no matter how personal.”

The Inquisitor swallowed, speaking slowly, “I don’t disagree with you, Leliana. If killing Solas is the only way to save Thedas, of course I will not stand in the way. However, I will not give up on him yet, either. Not until I myself see who he is without the Dread Wolf, if such a thing can be accomplished.”

“That is...fair, I suppose. Though our hands may also be tied when it comes to his life,” Leliana said. “Our allies may also demand his head, and we cannot appear weak.” The Inquisitor felt her stomach clench, and a twinge of uncertainty and doubt filled her as she met Leliana’s gaze. 

Then, much to the Inquisitor’s surprise, Leliana reached out and lightly touched Lavellan’s arm. “I do not envy your position, Inquisitor,” the Spy Master said. “We will do what we can to support you.” 

“I...Thank you.” The Inquisitor smiled slightly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but please trust me. I-I will not let you-” 

Lavellan’s world lurched. The elf woman staggered and clutched at the war table, upsetting the map as she struggled to regain her balance. Boiling pain erupted from her elbow, forking through shoulder, into her neck and spine, commanding her to her knees. She screamed and screamed as her head filled with a leaded weight and cracked against the floor. The tang of blood pooled in her mouth, darkness quickly rushing in from all sides. 

_ Come, Child. _

Hers and the cries of her companions became smothered and distant as though she’d been plunged under water. The Herald watched from afar as the Spy Master, Commander, and Ambassador’s blurred shapes moved closely around her, pale like ghosts burning away in the morning’s sun. Gentle arms wrapped around a body that no longer felt part of her and pulled her beneath the water’s surface.

“Lavellan--!”


	2. Chapter 2

**_[Letters lie upon Ambassador Josephine’s desk]_ **

_**[The oldest letter bears illuminated Chantry letterhead]** _

**9:49, Harvestmere 1**

Ambassador,

Apologies, I find writing pleasantries, especially under such circumstances, frivolous, so I will get to the heart of the matter. If what you describe is true, then this is grave news indeed. We must act quickly.

First, I would recommend tracking down Senior Enchanter Rhys, the healer the Inquisitor rescued some years ago. Leliana may know where to find him. He and his companion Evangeline owe a great deal to the Inquisition, and I believe them trustworthy. 

Second, I ask that you send me updates as often as you can. I have urgent matters to attend to with the Mothers who also somehow demand my attention. I will come as soon as I can. In the meantime, please keep me well informed.

Third, I beg of you not to go to such lengths to greet me this time. It is quite unnecessary, and as much as possible, I would like to draw attention away from my arrival. We should keep this quiet.

Please continue with your assignments. I will see what I can do to increase our numbers of Peace Keepers near Tevinter. 

With Grace and Benediction of the Maker,

Divine Victoria

  
  


**9:49, Harvestmere 10**

Ambassador Josephine,

Thank you for your letter. Evangeline and I are always eager to serve the Inquisition and the Inquisitor, to whom we owe so much. It would be our honor to assist however we can. I understand the matter is urgent, and we will depart for Skyhold at once to await further instruction.

Respectfully,

Rhys, Senior Enchanter (Aequitarians)

  
  


**9:49, Harvestmere 12**

Dear Lady Olivia Tressard,

It is the Inquisition’s deepest pleasure and gratitude to receive your invitation to the Duke’s ball this coming winter. Last year’s revelry cannot be compared and was the talk of the Court for many months after.

However, it is with considerable regret that I must inform you that the Inquisitor is away on most urgent business for the foreseeable future and cannot easily be reached. The Inquisition’s Seneschal Leliana will be attending in her stead, if that would please the Duke. 

As always, I look forward to our next meeting. We simply must meet again soon for a game of Wicked Grace.

_-Ambassador of the Inquisition, Josephine Cherette Montilyet_


	3. Chapter 3

_It’s like dreaming and not like dreaming at the same time_. The thought burst like a bubble in the Inquisitor’s mind.

Lavellan suddenly woke on the edge of a cliffside that fell away to molten sky. She started in surprise, jumping to her feet and propelling herself backward and away from the drop. Her back bumped against another lurch of cliff-face, which the Inquisitor spun around and clung to.

_Still only one arm in the Fade_ , the woman thought. _Blast it all, the extra arm would have been useful for clinging to a mountain,_ she grumbled to herself as she awkwardly braced the cliffside. 

A hiss of whispers and forgotten words floated on a breeze that brushed the elf woman’s hair but that she could not feel upon her skin. It still made her shiver just the same. Steadily, Lavellan lifted her chin. Up the cliffside her gaze tracked, searching for a path. There, to the right, a slim stairway that snaked up to the top of the cliff. The path below her feet was narrow, but with care, the Inquisitor wriggled her way to the stairs, careful not to look over her shoulder and down to the void below. 

When she stood at the top of the cliff, Lavellan observed she had dreamed herself upon the highest cliff-face amongst a sea of floating, rocky, and ruinous islands thick with forests and overgrown farmlands.

_Lucky me._ She grimaced, fighting to keep her balance as her head swam with vertigo. After taking a few steps back, her balance returned, and she could better appreciate the dancing dreamscape around her. Then something caught her attention.

Far, far away, only a little bigger than a piece of dust on the horizon, she thought she could see a dark mass. It was darker than anything else around it, however small it might be, a black hole in the middle of the Fade. Her heart began to flutter against her ribcage, and she blinked several times to make sure it wasn’t dust. The darkness lingered on.

_Come,_ the wind whispered.

“Ominous,” the Inquisitor murmured in reply, squinting her eyes and deciding quickly that it didn’t help her see any more clearly. Her gaze lingered on the dark spot a moment longer before she moved her attention to the Fade behind her and the edge of a path that meandered through a dense forest some twenty feet away. Making her way to the path, Lavellan couldn’t help but admire the ribbons of light creeping through the canopy, somehow familiar and not unlike the forests she had grown up in. No other clear way forward, Lavellan breathed deeply, the air humid and pungent with wet leaves, and made her way into the forest, wondering how soon it would be before she woke up.


	4. Chapter 4

**_[A letter from Dorian sits atop a small stack of reports and letters on Leliana’s desk]_ **

**9:49, Harvestmere 4**

Lady Nightingale,

A pleasure to hear from you, as always. I am sure you count the days between our letters just as I do. I plan to arrive at Skyhold in a month’s time with news, but I am afraid I cannot leave more quickly than that.

I can only be maddeningly brief, but there is resistance in Tevinter, small underground movements against the Magisters. It isn’t only Dalish going missing, but handfuls of Liberati and slaves. I wouldn’t even have heard of the missing slaves had a rather pompous Magister not gotten drunk and loudly complained about his missing “shipments” all the way down the street. Maker bless alcohol. 

Some of the people seem convinced that the Magisters are involved in the growing number of disappearances. Some people suspect the Venatori are behind it. Others whisper of monsters in the dark. Troublingly, I am discovering there may be truth to some of these stories.

I have endeared myself to some of those working on the ground, and this is in addition to my work with the Lucerni party. My, I  _ have _ become quite in demand! But, I will admit some surprise with this new group, given their distrust of anyone with an aristocratic title. Perhaps they see my position as beneficial to their cause, one of the few with power willing to listen. Or perhaps this is a joke of sorts and I will soon find myself skewered at the end a rather long pike. It is hard to tell at this point. Their favor may yet turn, especially if I were to depart now. I will send word when I make my way to Skyhold.

_ -Dorian  _

_ P.S. If The Bull stops by Skyhold, please tell him Kadan sends his best. _


	5. Chapter 5

It was evening when Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen received word that Senior Enchanter Rhys and his companions had finally arrived at Skyhold. Though the night was warm, a cool autumn breeze drifted through the mountain air, bringing with it the smell of dying leaves and the promise of a cold winter. Leliana, flanked by two of her agents, crossed the lawn to the gates to greet her guests. The white glow of a half-moon filtering down to illuminate the stonework and tents pitched to house the constant stream of refugees and ebb and flow of Peace Keepers. It was late enough that most of the refugees and soldiers had gone to bed, save a few here and there, their voices mingling on the wind.

“Senior Enchanter, it is good to see you again,” Leliana said, extending her hand to shake in greeting. 

“And you as well, Seneschal, though I wish the circumstances were better,” the man replied, his voice touched with an Orlesian accent. Rhys was a tall man, clad in a muddied and crimson travelling cloak that was pulled over his robes, also equally muddy. The autumn rains had been relentless the past few days. The Enchanter respectfully lowered his cloak’s hood before clasping hands with the Spy Master. Rhys’ dark hair and beard were peppered with graying wisps, Leliana noted. Large dark circles bruised the undersides of chestnut eyes.  _ Older and wearier. Wiser too, if he is lucky _ . 

“Thank you for seeing us at this late hour,” Rhys said.

“Not at all. There is dinner waiting for you inside as well, if it is not too late for such things.” 

“Not too late, never too late. We would be glad for a hot meal.” Rhys smiled gratefully.

Leliana turned her greeting to Rhys’ two travelling companions, the templar Evangeline, also from Orlais, a middle-aged woman with braided brown hair and intense, dark eyes. The other companion-

“Shale!” Leliana exclaimed as she regarded the imposing stone golem looming behind Rhys and Evangeline, “I did not expect to see you.”

“Ah, it is the Sister. Yes, it  _ has  _ been a number of years, hasn’t it?” replied the Golem. 

“Still waging war against the birds?”

“Oh no! We’ve come to a mutually beneficial treaty.”

“Wait, really?” Leliana folded her arms.

“No.” 

“As humorous as ever, I see,” Leliana said.

“Those vile creatures can never be reasoned with. Cats, however...present a very interesting opportunity.” Shale’s voice almost purred as they contemplated. 

Leliana chose not to comment further and bowed her head in greeting to the Templar beside Rhys. 

“Ser Evangeline, a pleasure to see you safe and well.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Evangeline replied. She lowered her head respectfully. 

“Please, follow me. I am afraid we don’t have much time for pleasantries. I must update you fully on what has happened.” Leliana turned and began walking back to the castle. “My other council members, Ambassador Josephine Montliyet and Commander Cullen Rutherford, will convene with you a little later.”

“Am I to come with you as well?” Shale said, stopping at the base of the castle’s main staircase which shimmered in the moonlight from the recents rains. “Or would I be better as an ornament for the castle garden?”

“You are welcome, of course,” Leliana called back to Shale. Shale shrugged and followed, the ground quaking beneath their feet and sending the remaining refugees still awake skittering into their tents.

“Lovely,” said Shale.

“How can we be of assistance?” Rhys asked, catching up to Leliana’s side. “There were precious few details in Ambassador Josephine’s letter, and we are eager to help.”

“It may be easier if I show you,” Leliana said in a careful, quiet tone, “Come.” 

The quartet passed through Skyhold’s entry way, toward the throne at the back of the main hallway, and took a door to their left. Up a long and winding staircase Leliana led them until they reached a lone door at the very top of a tall tower. The Spy Master opened the door, commanding her agents to remain outside.

“Here,” Leliana said, standing aside so her guests could enter. 

The room was large and dim, two balconies facing the North and West providing dramatic views of the mountains arching their way through the horizon. Moonlight fell across a stone floor, a small fire burning beside a writing desk that was littered with quills and crumpled paper. The room smelled of clean mountain air, the northernmost balcony door open and allowing the autumn breeze its claim to the room. A bed was pushed against the rear wall of the tower room, and atop the bed lay the Inquisitor, still and asleep.

Rhys looked at Leliana, confused and alarmed, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

“There are few who know the situation, and we prefer to keep it that way,” Leliana said in a hushed tone, “Our Inquisitor is gravely ill, and no healer has so far been able to help.”

Rhys did not answer immediately, but strode to the Inquisitor’s bedside and began a brief look over, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead then searching her neck for a pulse. Evangeline followed quickly behind and took post at the end of the bed while Shale stood by the staircase and observed. 

“How long has she been like this?” Rhys said, the pulse ticking beneath his fingers weak and irregular.

“Just before the Harvestmere began she collapsed.” Leliana crossed the room to stand beside Rhys, her hands clasped behind her as she regarded Lavellan.

“Has she awoken?”

“No.”

“Were there any symptoms prior to her collapse?” Rhys asked as he lifted her eyelids.

“She complained of hay fever and insomnia. But there was more happening. She seemed in pain, which we suspect may have been due to the anchor. She spoke nothing of the anchor, though..”

“You mean the mark she used on the rifts?” 

“Yes. An...old companion was able to slow the anchor’s influence over her by removing part of her arm, but we fear the mark may have finally caught up.”

Rhys pursed his lips. “I will need some time and quiet to focus. There is a deep magic at play here,” he said, a soft blue light forming in the palm of his hand which he reapplied to the Elvhen woman’s forehead.

“Of course,” Leliana said, heading back toward the door, “Should you require anything, my agents are posted outside. Food will arrive shortly.”

“Thank you,” Rhys replied distractedly, his eyes closed as he called magic to him and focused his senses.

“Please,” Leliana said barely above a whisper, her hand pausing on the doorknob. Rhys opened his eyes as Evangeline and Shale turned their attention to Leliana. “You have the Inquisition’s deepest appreciation for being here. Please... do all you can.”

“You have our word,” Evangeline vowed with a solemn nod, crossing a fist across her heart. Leliana almost smiled and left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**[A note lies in a corner of the rafters of Herald’s Rest tavern]**

_ It is like a curse but not like a curse. Rhys grins and says that is exactly it. A curse can be lifted, but this is part of her. They beg him to keep searching, and he will. He helps. _

_ Evangeline sees me in the kitchens. She likes the buttery bread the baker makes, a taste that reminds her of father’s smile when he passes his share under the table so mother does not see.  _

_ “Hello, Cole.” _

_ “Hello, Evangeline,” I reply and then quickly say, “You remember me without Rhys here?” _

_ “I can remember you much better now, I think.”  _

_ It will make them glad to meet Maryden. _


	7. Chapter 7

“Can you tell me what is going on?” Lavellan asked for what must have been the hundredth time. “Anything at all?” 

A cloud of white and silver smoke floated a few feet from her, the closest it had dared to come so far. The wispy spirit spun together, then apart, like a ball of wool, its tendrils of smoke glittering in the muted sunlight beneath a hazy canopy. The air around smelled musty, like old rain water and mold. Lavellan waited patiently as she felt a reply gathering in the thick air.

“I can tell you many things,” a delicate voice hummed from the misty spirit. “Many places and many ages.”

“What has happened recently? In the last few mortal months? Days even? Why aren’t there more spirits? Or Demons?” Lavellan clarified, her tone even. The cloud drew in its smoke tightly, spinning furiously as it formed a ball. It was thinking, Lavellan knew, and it was nervous. The anxiety pouring from the spirit hit her in crescendoing waves, making the elf-woman’s palm sweat and chest tighten in sympathy. 

“I cannot lie and should not say,” the spirit said, floating a little farther away, its edges becoming harder to discern against the Faded forest. “You may end up in a place you do not want to go, as those of us to hear their call are want to do.”

“What do you mean? Please,” Lavellan said, inching a step toward the spirit. “Why can’t you say? Is there anything I can do to help you?” 

The smoke loosened a little, the anxiety momentarily stemmed. Lavellan thought she could almost see something humanoid in its shape. The Inquisitor’s heart leapt a little. 

“Hmmm,” the spirit mused as it swirled furiously. “I am Truth, and Truth knows there is danger in the Truth. A great danger that may ripple in ways you cannot yet understand, Elvhen. But I shall consider your offer and may return _. _ ”

“ _ Ma serranas, ma falon _ ,” Lavellan whispered. The spirit melted into the mirage and was gone.

Lavellan let out a heavy sigh, not realizing she’d been holding her breath, and she looked around the canopy without really taking it in. How long had she been here, wandering and searching? An itch inside of her and a feeling she couldn’t quite place, like she had lost someone but couldn’t recall who. She kicked at the ground in frustration, brow furrowed, and knelt down on the forest floor to think.


	8. Chapter 8

**[An old Elvhen book sits beside the Inquisitor’s sick bed, open as if somebody has been reading it]**

_Fen’Harel in the Silent Plains_

_Legend tells how Fen’Harel spent many years stalking the Northern part of the world. He disguised himself to observe and to learn, assuming the form of a young man. During his journey, he came across a Keeper as she dreamt in the Fade. The Keeper held tightly to her breast a sword that glinted and whispered, a sword that caught the attention of Fen’Harel, and he coveted the blade. The Skinwalker dressed himself in finery and humbled himself to the woman._

_“I am but a traveler, headed to the most splendorous city,” the Wolf said and hid his glee behind his mask of flesh. “But I have seen trouble in the path you are taking ahead. I will share my wisdom, but at the price of your sword.”_

_The Keeper was unsure of what to make of this man. The Sword, she explained, was magical and had kept her clan safe for many generations. Surely this blade would protect her from the danger she may face, and she dismissed him._

_Another night came, and the man approached her again in dream to barter. “No sword will save you or your people from the danger you will face,” he warned. “And what you carry would help me a great deal more.”_

_“What proof have you?” the Keeper demanded. “Show me proof that what you say is true, and I shall accept your deal.” And once again the Wolf was sent away._

_A third night he returned, carrying under his arm the head of a darkspawn. He tossed the head to the Keeper’s feet and she recoiled from the hideous creature. The woman demanded an explanation, but the Wolf was silent and pointed to the sword the Keeper bore. The Keeper relented and agreed, though only if the man could explain the danger and tell her how to save her clan._

_“I have seen,” he proclaimed. “A terrible future. To protect your people, you must leave these lands at once.”_

_“What future is this?” the Keeper asked, dismayed. “For all our lives we have lived here and cannot imagine a place other than this.”_

_“A future of great torment and pain. This land will be blighted and barren. You will be invaded by men who would enslave you. No crops will grow. The rivers will dry. Terrible monsters will come and steal your people away. Flee and you may be spared this fate.”_

_But the Keeper did not believe the man’s warning. The rivers ran swift, the food grew in abundance, and the clan had met few others, none of whom strange. She quickly woke from the Fade, sword tightly clasped in her hand, and called a meeting with her kin. When she shared the dream with her clansfolk, they were troubled by the Elvhen man and his finery, and all agreed he was a trickster who sought to rob and doom them himself._

_When the Keeper dreamed again, the Skinwalker came to her once more, and no longer was he a man, but a dire wolf who towered above her. His fur was black, his eyes many and red. He bore great fangs at her and growled deep in his chest._

_“You would deceive Fen’Harel? Foolish woman,” he spat as she shook with fear. “You have thrown away our deal and now your people will surely suffer. I will watch you die and take the sword for myself.”_

_“Begone, Dread Wolf!” the Keeper screamed and summoned all of her strength, championing the sword before her to banish Fen’Harel from her people. Weakened by the mere presence of the blade, the trickster withdrew, driven from her part of the Fade. But the assault took all of the woman’s strength, and soon after waking, she slipped into the hands of Death._

_The Keeper’s efforts bought her clan time, but the Wolf’s curse did come to pass. Invaders came to slay and enslave. Blight poisoned the earth and tainted the water for a thousand years. Nothing grew and nothing lived, save a single rose, the Aria, named for the Keeper who drove the Dread Wolf from the Plains._

**_[Somebody scribbled a note in the margins]_ **

_Truth twisted, turned, tangled in time. Tempted and torn, the thief brought her own downfall. He certainly thinks so._


	9. Chapter 9

Lavellan rose from her crouching position. Parts of the Fade had changed while she considered her next action, though it only felt like moments had passed. The light seemed somehow dimmer, as if twilight were approaching. The air too felt thicker and more humid, catching in her lungs as she drew breath. An itch at the back of the Inquisitor's head made her look about, though she saw nothing behind her.

_Follow._

“Where?” she said to the mirage, coughing a little. Lavellan looked over her shoulder, peering into the glittering fog behind, her eyes darting back and forth as they searched.

“Where do you want me to go?” she called again.

“Greetings, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan jumped with a start, spinning around to face the unexpected voice.

“Who’s there?” the Inquisitor called, pulling a makeshift staff she had found from her back defensively. 

“Weren’t you the one just calling?” the voice asked quizzically. 

Through the trees and bushes stepped an old woman. She was dressed in circle robes which were faded to a dull reddish brown, an oak staff strapped across her back. Her gray hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, accentuating high cheekbones and soft, blue eyes. The woman raised her hands in a show of surrender.

“Peace,” she said. “I am no demon and mean you no harm, Inquisitor.”

“Then who are you?” the Inquisitor demanded, not lowering her staff. The woman kept her hands raised and in view. Although the old woman looked fairly solid, Lavellan could see thin trails of sparking mist gathering around her, swirling and dancing along the edges of her clothes and skin, silver and gold stars catching in the Fade’s waning sunlight.

“In life, I was known as Wynne. I was a Senior Enchanter of the circle and stood with the Hero of Ferelden against the Fifth Blight, among other things,” the old woman said. 

“How did you find me? And how do you know me?” the Inquisitor asked, still not lowering her staff, but her voice was now more curious than suspicious.

“A Spirit of Truth pointed me in the right direction in the end. But I have been searching for you for some time now. I am guided by my son, Rhys. He is tending to you outside of the Fade while you dream. I was drawn to his presence which clings to you. He and I are both deeply grateful for all you have done for him.” Wynne’s eyes glittered. “That is how I found you, and that is how I recognize you.” 

“You mean the Enchanter Rhys? The mage the Inquisition rescued?” Lavellan’s hand dropped a little.

“That is correct. He is close with your friend Cole, I believe.” 

The Inquisitor considered this information. Lavellan did know of a Wynne through the tales of the Hero of Fereldan, and she recalled hearing the name from Leliana. That, and the woman _felt_ safe. Lavellan could sense the spirit’s emotions, just a touch of them, enough to know that there was kindness there, true kindness. The Inquisitor breathed deeply and gave a short nod.

“Alright, say I believe you,” Lavellan said, securing the staff behind her once more. Wynne lowered her hands. “Why did you want to find me? That is a lot of trouble to go through for just a thank you.”

“Do not underestimate the gratitude of a mother, or the gratitude of the lives you save and touch, Inquisitor. Some would lay their lives down for you because you moved them so, and that is no small thing.“ Wynne shook her head and sighed. “But, you are right. I do come with another purpose. There are certain truths I must show you in the Fade.” 

“Truths?” the Inquisitor asked and Wynne hastened to clarify.

“Events a Spirit of Faith showed me before we parted ways. It is very important I give them to you so you can deliver them to the Inquisition before you too pass on.”

“I _am_ dying, then, ” the Inquisitor said slowly, but not with sorrow or fear. She felt the knowledge settling, sinking in, and a quiet kind of rightness fell into place as she contemplated. Lavellan already _knew_ it, could feel her death coming and the heaviness her body bore, much more so now that she was in the Fade and her own life, mind the pun, was fading. Her anchored arm prickled. 

“Yes,” Wynne said. She stepped a little closer to put a hand on Lavellan’s forearm, squeezing it gently. “And there is one last thing you must do before you leave the world. You must bring truth to Thedas, so those who carry on the fight will know of it and do not repeat past mistakes.”

“Am I not meant to fight, too?” Lavellan asked, confused.

“To save the world, you mean?” Wynne laughed, but not unkindly. “You have done so already. It is time for somebody else to pick up the mantle and write the next chapter. However, you must be part of passing on that mantle as nobody else sits in the position you do. The truths will be hard to swallow, but the people will listen to their Herald.”

“I-” Lavellan looked down at her feet. She was dying, and the peace that had settled over her moments before stirred a little now, like a breeze disturbing autumn leaves fallen on a cooling earth. How could she just leave while the fight raged on? Leaving the Inquisition in the midst of turmoil could weaken it, making any efforts against Fen’Harel all the more difficult. It could even put her friends in danger as their allies turned into sharks sniffing for blood in the water. How could she give up? Wynne seemed to guess her thoughts.

“It will be alright,” the old woman soothed. “This is not your fight any longer. The world will endure. It always has. You must begin letting go.”

“I...I hope so,” the Inquisitor said, her eyes downcast. “Yes, you are right.” 

Wynne removed her hand from the Inquisitor’s arm with a final squeeze and beckoned for her to follow.

“Come, there is much ground to cover. We can talk as we walk. My, I haven’t been on a journey like this in ages.” The old woman hummed happily as she set off, the Inquisitor in toe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Patient Report #9, 9:49 Harvestmere 25**

_ The patient still runs a fever which will not break, despite my best efforts. She is clammy, hands and feet cold for a while and then warm. The patient does not move or seem agitated, and I have so far been unable to awaken her. Anyway, I think it wiser to let her remain asleep. _

_ -Rhys, Senior Enchanter (Aequitarians) _

**_[There is a note in the margins]_ **

_ Sleeping, swept away, a body that cannot bear its scars. Unravelling. Darkness calling from the corners, but she is starting to see where the path leads.  _

**_[There is a second note in the margins]_ **

_ To Cole - please stop leaving notes on my medical records. These are official documents and are read by the Divine. However, if you have insights, please continue to share them with me. _

_ -Your Friend, Rhys _

**_[There is a small stack of notes piled on top of the medical records, also all seemingly from Cole. The top one reads: ]_ **

_ Stone sentinels closing inward. They wait in monstrous dark.  _

***

**[An official letter with ornate Chantry letterhead lies open on Commander Cullen’s desk]**

**9:49, Harvestmere 26**

Commander Cullen,

I apologize for bombarding you with these letters. Despite my efforts to have our allies send their requests to you directly, these letters still seem to find their way to me. However, this request may be of particular interest to the Inquisition. 

I received a letter from Orlais requesting 30 of our men and women to aid with support. Two clans have come to Empress Celene for aid, refugees, it seems, seeking asylum. The clans have lived in isolation for Maker knows how long, and the Orlesian villages in the area hold little patience or supplies to support the elves. The clans are making their way north in haste, and we may be able to help them.

As you can imagine, this could be an opportunity for us to learn something. It would also sow favor with Orlais, possible leverage. Please consider Empress Celene’s request, enclosed, and we can discuss in further detail during my visit, which by the time this arrives should only be a day or two away. I look forward to seeing everyone, and Skyhold, soon.

With Grace and Benediction of the Maker,

Divine Victoria

***

**[There is a neat stack of invitations sitting upon Josephine’s desk]**

**9:49, Harvestmere 30**

Revered Mother Augustine,

It is the Inquisition’s greatest pleasure and gratitude to receive your invitation to attend the opening of your Chantry in Denerim. We are long overdue for a visit to the city, and we were delighted to learn that even King Alistair himself will make an appearance! 

However, it is with considerable regret that I must inform you that the Inquisitor is away on most urgent business for the foreseeable future and cannot easily be reached. The Inquisition’s Seneschal Leliana will be attending in her stead, if that would be acceptable. She and the King fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden years ago, and I am sure the two attending would cause quite an excited flurry.

As always, it is a pleasure hearing from you. Wishing the brightest of futures for your Chantry. 

_ -Ambassador of the Inquisition, Josephine Cherette Montilyet _


	11. Chapter 11

“It is settled then,” Divine Victoria said with an approving nod. “The Orlesian clans will take refuge at Skyhold. The Chantry will inform the Empress Celene of its decision. She will be relieved, and it should not take the clans long to arrive.” 

Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine sat beside the fire in the war room. It was late into the evening, and the north wind rattled the windows. A plume of steam curled above a teapot sitting in the middle of a small, round table used for serving bedside meals and, apparently, Council meetings. Josephine had ordered tea delivered, a booster against the mounting fatigue as their talks pressed on into the evening. Nobody had yet poured themselves a cup though, which was just as well - the tea was over steeped and acrid. 

“And perhaps once at ease the Dalish will come to offer more detail on their experiences,” Leliana added. “We should take extra care, however. An increase in people means we also increase the risk of spies and somebody stumbling across the Inquisitor. We cannot be sure Fen’Harel has not orchestrated this discovery.”

“Indeed,” the Commander agreed. “I will increase the presence of our Keepers within our walls. We should also take care to monitor who comes in and out of the castle.”

“My agents will see to that as well.” Leliana inclined her head a fraction.

“The rumors that the Inquisitor is away on dangerous and important business seem to have taken,” Josephine said. “And people wonder what that business must be.”

“Fuel the rumors as best you can, Josie,” Leliana said. “We must keep up their credibility.”

“Of course. I will do all I can,” Josephine said, jotting down ideas on her clipboard. 

“The Chantry will do what it can to aid you. We will not outright lie or support a lie, but we will support what claims we can,” Cassandra said. 

“Most appreciated, your Worship,” Josephine replied. 

“Please, Josephine, you do not need to call me that in private company. Cassandra is still fine. But with that matter settled,” Cassandra said, waving an impatient hand. “Has Enchanter Rhys another report? I would like to have as frequent updates on the Inquisitor as I can while I am here.”

“Not yet,” Leliana said, her voice a little worn. “But he is trying some new tests and will have a report ready come mid-morning.”

“Fine,” said Cassandra evenly. “Alert me as soon as it is ready.” 

“What will we do?” Josephine said with a slight tremble, her voice high and cutting through the conversation. Her party shifted in their seats to look at Josephine.

“D-do?” Cullen asked with some hesitation. 

“If she dies,” she breathed. There was a silence amongst the four as a weight in the air seemed to grow, pushing down upon them. 

“Pick a successor, of course.” Leliana’s empty voice filled the quiet, a simple answer that churned their stomachs. Josephine’s face paled.

“But now is hardly the right time for a successor. I know we have discussed the longevity of the Inquisition, and the Chantry offers us a level of protection, but Lavellan is still a symbol of hope, and there is no saying if the people will accept anyone other than the Herald as ambassador between-” Josephine said, speaking quickly as if a worried dam were breaking within her.

“We know,” Cullen said softly. “But in all honesty, there is never going to be a good time. The situation, her life, is beyond our control.”

“Isn’t it?” Cassandra said, arching an eyebrow. “The people may accept a successor if they are endorsed by the Herald. She may yet wake, and we have all seen enough miracles from her to believe she may still come to.

“But more than that,” Cassandra continued, shifting her weight. “What has been done to keep the mark from spreading? What does Rhys say, and where have we looked? There must be some kind of magic that can help. Solas was able to quiet the mark and gave her years. I do not believe her so far gone.”

“But none of  _ us  _ possesses that power,” Leliana said. “Solas is the only one we know of with power enough to slow the mark’s progression.”

“No.” Cassandra replied flatly. “That is not what I meant.”

“What?” Leliana said in a hard tone.

“We will not go to Fen’Harel and ask him to save her. The risk and potential cost is too great. Even if we knew where he was-”

“I would not suggest such a thing,” Leliana cut in. “I agree. Seeking him for help is out of the question. He was only able to offer her a bandage, anyway,  _ buy  _ her a little time,” Leliana spat and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “He lives while she suffers. He plots the death of the world, he gets to live, and he is  _ winning _ . Sometimes I wonder if the Maker-”

“Enough, Leliana,” Cassandra hushed the Spy Master and lay a hand upon her old friend’s shoulder. “I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you.” Leliana tossed her head dismissively but said no more.

“So,” Cullen said, “What now?”

“We can’t pick a replacement,” Josephine said, gripping her clipboard between blanched fingers. “Not now.” Her jaw trembled, and she looked down as tears began to thread down her cheeks. Barely audible, she whispered, “She is our friend, for goodness sake.”

“The longer we wait, though,“ Leliana cautioned. “The riskier our position becomes. If word escapes of any weakness, in our ranks or the Chantry’s, it could be dangerous and could undermine all that we have tried to build. Remember, our duty is to the Divine and to protect her interests. We must be strong.”

“I am right here and can speak for my own interests,” Cassandra curtly replied. “All of our interests are in stopping Solas, including our allies’ interests, however reluctant they may be to help right now. But nevermind that for the moment. The Inquisitor will awaken. I am sure of it,” said the Divine, and for a moment there was a small ember of hope that warmed them. “The Chantry will give you some time. Leliana and Josephine will continue to attend events on her behalf. We have time and she will come to. I  _ know _ it.”

“When did you become such an optimist?” mused Leliana and Cassandra smiled.

”Then let us see what the Maker wills next,” Leliana continued with a sigh. “But perhaps we should create a list of names for Lavellan to choose from. Whether she...whether it is necessary now or later, it is good to have on hand.”

Josephine swallowed hard, wiping away her tears and nodded. “I will come up with a list of suitable candidates.”

“I will add a few names myself, if that is alright, Josephine,” offered Cullen.

“That would be appreciated.” Josephine tried a small and appreciative smile, but it did not reach her eyes. 

The Ambassador remembered the tea and poured herself a cup, though it was now cold. She sipped and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Damn it all! We really must find somebody better at making tea.” She scribbled furiously in her notes, shaking her head. “This simply will not do. If a dignitary were to come and we served  _ that _ , it would be an international incident.”

“We will find somebody, Josie. It’s alright,” Leliana said with a small smile, laying a hand over Josephine’s which was still feverishly flying across parchment. A grimace flashed across Josephine’s face, tears sliding down her cheeks, and she sighed heavily, letting her quill drop to the page with a  _ skitter _ . 

The four fell silent, and the wind continued to rattle the window, asking to be let in.


	12. Chapter 12

**[Fresh ink glitters on parchment in the flickering light of a candle sitting on Dorian’s Skyhold desk; there is always a room ready for him]**

**9:49, Firstfall 4 Report from Tevinter**

_Pardon my language, Lady Nightingale, but Tevinter is a shitshow, at least from its underbelly. A terrifying shitshow, and considering the work we’ve done over the years, that truly is saying something. I mean, the lowest within Tevinter have always borne the brunt of it, but the people are terrified._

_I have ingratiated myself to a group calling themselves Andraste’s Hand, a small band of former slaves acting as a kind of local relief organization. As I previously made mention, lower caste people have been disappearing in great numbers, and the Magisters hardly seem to care, except that it’s bad for business. What I did not mention in my previous letter is that some of the magisters and their relatives are also disappearing, though that information is largely kept quiet. Can't have us appearing weak or divided in front of the masses, after all._

_Andraste’s hand is mostly focused on missing people in the lower castes. I mean, I can’t blame them. So, as a friendly up-yours to my fellow countrymen, I spent the better part of half-a-year earning the trust of Andraste’s Hand. Not to say we didn’t also sometimes stumble across a case of a missing Lord or Lady in our investigations, but there you go._

_About a month ago, I went out with a few members to see what their work entailed. That evening we were to stake out an alley where some of the local people had claimed to have heard commotion over the last few nights._

_Around midnight, we heard a wail in the dark. It was an unearthly cry, not unlike the terror demons we used to face. My fellows and I waited for something to emerge. Finally, the back door of an inn opened and out slithered_ something _. It was almost like a dog, black and thin, but it had no fur. Disgusting thing, really. It saw us, and as it did, we realized in its great jaws was a small child, one of the children of a visiting Lord we later learned. The beast took off into the night, just as the Lord came screaming out of the backdoor._

_We broke into pursuit, following the wail of the child all the way to the forest nearby. Dark shadows formed ahead of us, and the beast began to melt away. I tried to cast a spell to slow the creature, but the spell failed. I tried again, and the spell still failed. I managed to conjure something on my third try, but by that point the beast and the girl were gone._

_There have been other such disappearances like the one I encountered. Packs of strange beasts, coming from the shadows and disappearing back into the shadows, dragging some poor innocent with them. I can still see that little girl’s hand, reaching through the darkness toward me. I will never forget that._

_I...haven’t experienced such difficulties casting magic since I was a very small boy. I failed that little girl and her father, and my hope in coming South is that I might learn more about the widespread nature of these creatures and disappearances, redeem myself in a sense. If you have any news of such things, consider me at your disposal._

  
\- _Dorian_


	13. Chapter 13

The old woman and the elf had travelled a long way, though the murky sunlight above never dimmed and shadows cast never moved. Wynne led them across great planes of still brush and reeds, through portals deep in ruins, and across a mountain where the snow fell upward, trailing up into the sky. The pair had made their way into the heart of an emerald wood, Wynne spurring them onward with the promise that they were close to their first destination.

Lavellan had come to an abrupt stop. The whispers were louder here, and her head was beginning to hurt. The woman craned her ears, trying to understand what they were saying, but it was too much, like trying to hear one person in a crowded room. Closing her eyes, she decided to be patient and just listen. 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Wynne asked, noticing her companion had fallen behind and turning to see where Lavellan had gotten to.

Lavellan pursed her lips, tossing her head back and forth, seeming not to hear Wynne.

_ This way,  _ a voice hissed from behind, and Lavellan spun to face the speaker but found nothing and nobody there. A yearning gripped her to follow all the same, back down the path, to the edge of the wood, to travel along the horizon, her eyes fixed toward the center of the Fade.

Wynne’s gentle hand on her back roused her from these thoughts. The Elvhen woman’s face twisted as her head throbbed, a soft groan escaping her lips.

“Are you alright?” Wynne repeated, walking back to the Inquisitor. 

“I-I think so. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Her voice trailed away a little as the yearning tugged on her heart, and she absentmindedly swatted the air by ear like flicking away a fly. “Where are we?”

“Nearing our first stop along this journey,” Wynne replied, eyeing the Inquisitor with lingering concern.

“What is it you wish to show me?” the Inquisitor asked. 

“There is a certain memory,” Wynne said, pushing past vines hanging from the branches of a great oak tree as they continued their way forward. “And we have come to that place of memory.”

“Place of memory?” 

“Where the Fade remembers the past. You will make better sense of it if you see it for yourself.”

“Is it your memory?” the Inquisitor asked. Her foot caught on a root beneath her feet, and her body lurched forward. Wynne spun, caught the elf woman by her arm, and helped Lavellan regain her balance.

“Careful!” Wynne said with a chuckle. “But in answer to your question, no. It is a memory that the Fade itself took notice of and imprinted into its fabrics. There are some events so significant and weighted that time itself molds to that moment. Time itself becomes a record keeper in a sense, and the Fade is its recording.” 

“I see. And where is this imprint?” 

“ _ I knew you would come.”  _

As if summoned, a low voice issued nearby. Wynne pressed a finger to her lips and knelt in the soft earth, peering through the underbrush and pointing. The Inquisitor took her place by the old mage’s side and together they could see a little ways away, into the belly of an Elvhen ruin. 

A stone path weaved its way through the forest floor, roots and tree trunks pushing up what must have once been finely laid architecture. Broken arches and a wobbly line of collapsed wall were nearly gone, swallowed by the flora. The silhouettes of two figures began to form opposite each other on either side of the ruin, pinpricks of light and wisps of smoke gathering together. The echo of the voice still carried in the air, and the hairs stood up on the back of Lavellan’s neck. 

“Spirits?” Lavellan whispered.

“Indeed,” Wynne murmured. “Reenacting the events of a few years past.”

“A few?” Lavellan’s curiosity was stemmed as the spirits began talking again.

“ _ You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf _ ,” the spirit continued, its voice becoming low and feminine. Lavellan’s eyes flashed and she leaned in closer.

“ _ I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber _ ,” said the second spirit, gliding its way across the glade. 

Features began to fill in, the pale smoke of each spirit taking on more color and texture. Lavellan could see the leather coat and breast plate on the first spirit, her long, white hair arching back like horns behind her head, her nose bent, and her eyes colored ochre and watching her fellow with a hawk-like intensity. The second spirit was clad much more plainly, a travelling tunic, loose pants, bare feet, the jaw of a wolf hanging around its neck.. 

“Fen’Harel and Mythal,” the Inquisitor said, her voice quivering in the air like a nervous bird. 

“ _ The failure was mine,” _ Fen’Harel continued, his voice becoming more like Solas’s with each word. “ _ I should pay the price, but the people, they need me.”  _ The spirit likeness of Solas now stood before Flemeth, hanging his head while she took his cheek in her palm. “ _ I am so sorry,” _ he whispered, shoulders slumping.

“ _ I am sorry as well, old friend,” _ the spirit Mythal replied, touching her forehead to Fen’Harel’s. 

Her spirit then convulsed as a pulse of energy emanated from the other. The spirit woman was lifted from her feet, her body suspended as an aurora of dancing lights engulfed her and Fen’Harel. Mythal then slowly lowered to the ground, her body becoming as dark and brittle as ash. With caring hands, the ghostly man caught her and lay her body upon the ground. The light gathered around him like water being absorbed by a sponge, curling around and into him in tendrils of silver and indigo smoke. 

The scene began to dissolve, the spirits shaking apart, back into willowy wisps. Silence and stillness fell over the ruins which looked darker now without the spirits for illumination. 

“Do you understand what you witnessed?” Wynne said in a hushed voice, careful as she disturbed the silence that had fallen. 

“I think so.” Lavellan swallowed and licked her lips. “What we saw...that was Fen’Harel and Mythal. Mythal looks to have passed along her soul to Solas. I saw her do it before in the Fade. She took the soul of an old god from Morrigan’s son, but this transfer killed Flemeth.”

“Indeed,” Wynne nodded. “It does appear as if Solas may now carry at least three forgotten souls within himself.”

“Making him an even more powerful threat than we previously thought.” Lavellan shook her head, the itch to look behind her returning as a soft suggestion in the back of her head. 

“And this is why,” the Inquisitor continued, rising from her spot. “It’s important that I learn all that I need and pass on the mantle quickly.”

Wynne smiled approvingly, extending a hand so the Inquisitor could help her up.

“A very wise decision, Inquisitor. This fight is much bigger than yourself, and we cannot afford to waste any time.”

“Then take me to the next place,” the Herald commanded, her eyes bright and wide. “I am ready.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Leave me a minute,” Rhys said as he poured over the latest report, his nose barely an inch from the paper. He sat at the desk in the corner of the Herald’s room, papers strewn over the floor, books open around him in a growing sea of study. Evangeline loomed over the teetering towers of books, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded Rhys disapprovingly. 

“I need to finish this,” he muttered, not looking up. 

“You’ve been at it for quite long enough,” Evangeline said sternly. “A break is what you need. And we’re late.”

Rhys scowled at her. “I’m close to something,” he said, rapping the report with his knuckles. 

There were large dark circles beneath his eyes, evidence of the many fitful nights and the little sleep he’d had. His hair stuck up at odd angles from all the times he’d run his fingers through it and all the days he’d failed to wash it. Evangeline raised her eyebrows with faint amusement as she took in his slightly crazed appearance. 

“I need to try and remember my last dream in the Fade. It’s,” he looked at his papers and his hands. “Been harder and harder to remember my dreams. But I  _ think  _ I saw-” his voice drifted off as he racked his brains and fought to suppress a yawn.

“How can you hope to help anyone when you won’t take care of yourself? Don’t be so foolish.  _ You’re _ the healer.”

Rhys let out an exasperated  _ hmph _ but found he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory counter, not when his brain felt so mushy. And Evangeline was right. Of course she was right. 

“There is ink on your nose,” Evangeline said softly, pointing. “There, at the tip.” She dug a handkerchief from her pocket and passed it to Rhys.

“I suppose you’ll next tell me it isn’t good for my eyesight to be so close to my text,” Rhys grumped as he began scrubbing the end of his nose.

“You just told yourself that,” Evangeline said mildly, a small and playful smile touching her lips. “There, you’re relatively clean. I’ll see you take a bath later. But for now, let’s head to the tavern.”

“I’ll need to alert my second to take over for a bit,” Rhys muttered as he shuffled his papers into a neat stack.

“I did so already,” Evangeline said. “Shale is on their way. Even they are worried and think you need to take a break.” 

Rhys paused and then sighed heavily, sinking deeply into his seat. “Maker bless you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as his temples pulsed dully. Evangeline leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Let’s go.”

“Is Shale really concerned? I mean, they are  _ literally _ heartless.”

The two departed from the castle soon after, making their way across the lawns, through the growing numbers of refugees and travelers, to the tavern. Rhys frowned as he regarded the people pressing in around them, and he leaned over to whisper in Evangeline’s ear. 

“I worry. With all these eyes, somebody is bound to find out what’s going on.”

Evangeline gave him a sideways glance.

“With your smell, I doubt anyone would try to sneak into our part of the castle,” she said coolly. Rhys raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“When did you get so quippy?” he muttered to her, though he couldn’t help feeling a little proud. She beamed.

“I’ve just been with you too long, I am afraid.” Then her voice lost it’s joking edge, business taking over. “But, I agree with you, the risk grows. Though I am certain the council is weighing these risks, and our ward is guarded well”

“But for how much longer?” Rhys said and Evangeline pursed her lips. 

“As long as I’m around,” she replied. “Indefinitely.” 

They spoke no more about the Inquisitor as they crossed the threshold of the tavern which was full to bursting. The smell of ale, fresh bread, and the sour tang of bodies filled their noses as they entered. Rhys grimaced at the yeasty stench. 

“Glad to see they cleaned up the place for us,” he murmured to his companion as he struggled to peer above the ocean of people. Happy chatter, the clatter of knives and forks, and the forceful  _ thunk _ of brimming pint glasses being set down mingled with a gentle melody of a mandolin. 

“You’ll fit right in.” Evangeline playfully bumped her hip against his while he grumped.

“You’re here!” A sudden and excited voice cut through the clamor around them, making Rhys jump.

“Cole!” Rhys cried above the din. “Sorry we’re late. I-”

“Needed to finish what you were working on,” Cole finished for his friend. “It’s fine. You’re here now!” Cole beamed at his two friends from under a wide brimmed hat which seemed to afford the young man a small radius where the mass of people couldn’t implode inwardly upon him.

“It is good to see you, Cole. And to get away for an evening,” Evangeline said, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

“And good to see you, too, Evangeline. Come, this way,” Cole said breathlessly, leading them through the crowd. Rhys and Evangeline pushed forward, making themselves small as they wove through the bodies to follow Cole who seemed to flit his way through the crowd with ease. 

“I saved us a table in the corner where it's quieter.” Cole pointed to a round wooden table stationed by the back pantry, just visible over the bobbing heads. “It has a good view of Maryden. We can listen.”

“Where is Maryden?” Rhys asked as he took his seat, peering around for the missing fourth member of their party.

No sooner had he asked than a woman emerged from the crowd at Cole’s shoulder. Her hair was brown and woven into fine braids that were wrapped around her head. A lute bounced on her hip as she extended a hand for Rhys and Evangeline to shake.

“Right here,” the woman said. “I’m Maryden. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“This -- this is her!” Cole said excitedly, gesturing with wide arms to the bard smiling at his side. “And Maryden, these are them! My friends, Rhys and Evangeline.” 

“Cole has told me...  _ everything  _ about you,” Maryden said with a small laugh.

“Everything? Oh, I’m sure he has,” Rhys said, his eyes sparkling, darting from Maryden to Cole.

“Please, take a seat!” Evangeline said, pulling a chair out for Maryden to sit. Maryden hesitated awkwardly.

“I’m sorry. I can’t at the moment. I am about to take over for him.” She pointed to the man standing by the staircase, finishing his last song. “But I will be over as soon as I’m done. It’s really a pleasure to meet you.” 

“We look forward to listening to you play,” Evangeline said politely, with a slight inclination of her head. Maryden’s cheeks flushed, and Cole leaned over to give her a small peck before she turned to depart.

“This way you can really know her. Her songs are part of her, and they help people. She helps people,” Cole explained, taking a seat while watching Maryden go. “And after, we can all talk.”

“Has she been a musician for long?” Rhys asked.

“For a long time, yes. She sings here and all over. This song is new. I helped her to write it,” Cole said, grinning. Rhys grinned too, truly happy for his friend. Even Evangeline looked pleased as she settled into her seat and took up a mug of ale which, as if by miracle or magic, had appeared by her hand. 

Maryden then began to play a lilting melody:

_ The walls, the walls, the towering walls, grow _

_ Thick, and I dream less and less. Blue veins spill _

_ Red, and my hand hold aloft the reddest vein, _

_ Though coldest steel still escapes me. _

_ Ravens fly and shadows creep, stooped below _

_ A castle’s keep. Sleep, they do, by Maker’s will, _

_ All while I dream less and less. Lies that reigned _

_ Our home built long ago stand and still be- _

_ But truth like cracks rise from ground, flow  _

_ Upward, pierces like ice and thins Heaven. Still  _

_ Awake I lie and ache that I do dream again. _

_ Yet still we may, hounds at bay, sleep and be free... _


	15. Chapter 15

“They  _ are  _ jumpy,” Shale observed with a subtle delight tingeing their rumbling voice. “Rather like the spiders who’d made their webs in my cracks and crevices. Kept the children from climbing on me.”

“Alas, I am not sure these refugees are as good for keeping children away.” Dorian sat on the ground beside Shale who had taken up residence in a far corner of the castle grounds. They both had taken to people watching in the late afternoon, at Leliana’s bequest, and with the sudden boom in people there was no shortage of watching to be done. 

The magister drew his cloak around his shoulders, a shield against the north wind which decided to pay Skyhold a visit that day. He shivered slightly, blowing on his hands to keep them warm and rather wishing he had a book to distract from the cold and bouts of boredom. 

“No,” Shale sighed wistfully, “They seem to have brought many screaming, wailing horrors with them.”

“Screaming...yes,” Dorian’s gaze drifted to the middle distance as his thoughts went back to Tevinter, to a long and cold alleyway that led to the forest edge where people said eyes blinked out from inky blackness. He hadn’t seen any eyes there, but a small hand had reached to him from the folds of darkness. A hand he didn’t expect to find, grasping at air as if praying for somebody to take it before being snatched away and never seen again. 

“It is not as witty today,” Shale said to Dorian. “A pity.”

Dorian blinked a few times until the thoughts were just ghosts at the corners of his mind. “Off day, I suppose,” Dorian said quietly, folding his arms protectively across his chest. “I haven’t been sleeping well, and I fear it’s catching up to me.”

“Funny,” Shale said, then amended. “Well, not really funny. That is an odd phrase the flesh creatures sometimes say. The Sarcastic Healer claims the same thing. It does not like to talk of it, but it says it cannot sleep and feels like a fog has taken its mind.”

“Curious, I feel much the same. Though in our line of work a lack of sleep is hardly surprising,” Dorian fingered his mustache thoughtfully and then asked. “Have you heard any other whispers?”

“Because I hear things so well? Or because I am so statuesque that nobody would think before letting slip some secret before me? Perhaps I should become a spy.”

“I will send a recommendation to our Lady Nightingale forthwith,” Dorian quipped. “A new recruit for only the most stealthy of missions. They will never see you coming.”

Shale chuckled, a rumbling sound like a small avalanche that made the ground quiver ever so slightly and the bones in Dorian’s chest thrum. “Perhaps,” Shale suggested. “It could be wise to speak with other mages.”

“Perhaps,” Dorian nodded. “A good suggestion.”

“I am full of them.”

There was a small cough to Dorian’s right, then a gasp. The magician turned his head sharply, reaching instinctively for his staff, only to find a young elf girl kneeling in the withered grass a few feet away. Trembling hands blistered from the cold were pressed tightly over her mouth, her eyes big and staring like a young fawn’s.  _ Caught _ ! Dorian smiled a little. The girl couldn’t be more than six, her hair was dark brown and wild with curls, her skin brown as a walnut, her eyes gray and haunted, looking up at them wide with terror. 

“My, hello there,” Dorian said, smiling and extending a hand to her. Her eyes darted from the hand, to the magician’s face, to the large stone creature behind the man. 

“Shhh,” the golem hissed. “Do not call it over. The wailing!” 

“She’s hardly wailing,” Dorian tossed back. “Ignore my compatriot. They mean well.”

“No, I don’t.” 

Dorian frowned over his shoulder at the Golem who shrugged. 

“What’s your name?” Dorian asked kindly, turning his attention fully to the child. The girl slowly looked down from the towering stone giant to Dorian, her body stiff and tense, and for a moment Dorian thought she might bolt. 

“I’m Dorian.” The man placed a hand on his chest, then gestured behind him, “This is Shale. We live here at Skyhold. Where is it you live?”

The girl hesitated, fidgeting with her hands, and then pointed to the castle gates.

“Ah,” Dorian said knowingly. “Beyond the gates, then? You must be with one of the Dalish clans. Is the Castle to your liking, little princess?” 

The girl’s eyes shimmered and she tilted her head slightly as she eyed Dorian as if sizing him up. 

“I heard you talking,” the girl said suddenly. “Mamae does not dream either. Not since we ran.”

“Ran? From who?” Dorian asked. The girl paused, thinking and rising up from her kneeling position. Her knees were dirty with twigs and dead grass, but she did not seem to notice. 

“Dogs. Black dogs with eyes,” she said, making her eyes large and round. “And they had teeth.” She bore them her teeth, prodding her front canines with a tiny finger. “Back there,” she whispered, pointing back through the castle gate. “Can they get in?” 

“Dogs?” Shale said. “They howl all night and lift their horrible legs against fine stone. Not as bad as the birds, but still quite vile. It had better run back to its  _ Mamae _ .”

The little girl gasped sharply, her whole body becoming rigid for a moment, and she covered her ears as her knees buckled with fear. A shiver made the child’s body tremble and she took off as fast as her small legs could carry her. 

“Shale,” Dorian chided. “Was that really necessary?”

Shale shrugged again. “I am asked to watch, not talk to the screeching masses.”

“To watch, yes. And to report anything interesting.” Dorian’s eyes were fixed on the circles of Dalish standing around their dinner fires. The smell of smoke made his nose itch. The girl had disappeared already. “And that was certainly interesting.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Patient Report #21, 9:49 Firstfall 7**

Patient remains asleep. Body temperature oscillates from hot to cold rapidly. Heart rate elevates to 136 -148 beats per-minute before settling to a resting rhythm of 54 beats per-minute. 

Episodes last 2-3 minutes and are coming with increasing regularity. As report #17 shared, the patient was experiencing 1- 2 episodes every other day. Now that number has rapidly increased to 1-2 each day over the last three days.

Green light has started to show during these hot and cold periods. It appears where the forearm was removed, just below where the skin has closed over the bone. Evangeline was the first to notice after washing the patient, and she reported the light began moments before an episode came on and ceased when the patient returned to normal. That pattern continues to hold.

The patient does not appear to be in pain during these episodes, and I am doing what I can to make the patient comfortable. 

Of significant note, I’ve felt a  _ presence  _ while working around the patient. A spirit in the Fade, I believe. It does not feel like a demon, and if I were to be a bit more personal, it reminds me of...my mother, which I am unsure what to make of. I have tried to track the spirit in my own dreams, but this spirit appears to be moving frequently and rapidly, and pinpointing its location has proved difficult. But I  _ think _ I can feel the patient with the spirit. The patient’s own energy feels weaker to me, but as of late I can discern two consciousnesses. It will take time to properly track both. But if I do so, I may be able to better assess the condition of the patient. It may even be possible to awaken the patient from the Fade.

_ Healer Recommendations _ : At minimum, I request additional mages to assist in tracking the spirit and patient in the Fade. I fear I do not alone have power enough to delve so deeply into the Fade when the targets continue to move and my own abilities seem sluggish. There are a few mages I know in Val Royeaux who are trustworthy. A list of names for review will be attached to this report. 

However, we may also consider moving the patient to Val Royeaux. A sudden influx of healers to Skyhold may alert outsiders, whereas perhaps we could smuggle the patient into the city, and that way the patient has access to whatever care they may need. I would recommend we request Dagna enchant a glamour pendant to disguise the patient. 

I also do not believe the patient in any immediate danger, and my current healing methods I believe are sufficient to keep the patient alive and comfortable during this journey. There appears little I can do at present on my own to awaken the patient or halt entirely the progression of the illness.

_ -At the Recommendation of Rhys, Senior Enchanter (Aequitarians) _


	17. Chapter 17

Night had fallen over Skyhold, the starlight above twinkling down from on high. The evening was still, no winter wind, no battering of rain, but the chill felt almost oppressive. Dorian sat with his back against the side of the stable wall, Shale beside him. Horse Master Dennet could be heard snoring from somewhere above in the barn.

The mage shivered, huddling around a cup of steaming soup in his hands. He blew across it. Still too hot to taste, so he lifted a bit of bread to his lips instead. It was buttery and rich, an Orlesian recipe he was certain, the crumb soft and stretchy. Dorian hummed contentedly as he ate.

“Does it really please you?” Shale asked dryly. “I never understand why the flesh creatures enjoy food so much, especially when it ends in such a vile state.”

“I’d enjoy my meal more if we didn’t discuss bodily functions,” Dorian replied.

Shale shrugged. “And why has the mage not taken itself to bed? Isn’t it late for such creatures?”

Dorian coughed and dipped a bit of the bread into the soup. Tomato with a splash of cream. The kitchen staff, bless them, had even dusted it with a sprinkle of parsley. He thought idly of how his waistline must be expanding and wondered what Bull might say. That he’s happy to see his Kadan so well fed, no doubt. The mage hid a private grin.

“I get the distinct impression that I’m not welcome,” Dorian commented. 

“I enjoy this time of night. It is quiet and free of screeching. No birds. No children.” The golem shuddered, or did what Dorian assumed was shudder, its stoney shoulders rumbling. 

“I understand,” said Dorian, inclining his head. “We all need our alone time. I will retire soon enough. Just going to finish this and do a last check of the perimeter.”

“My, it is on edge tonight,” Shale observed. “Is another check really necessary?” 

Dorian sighed heavily. “Maybe not.” He swirled bread in the soup. “But I’ll sleep better for it.”

A cry then interrupted their banter, lifted on the air, sending the hairs along Dorian’s arms standing on end. He knew that cry, had heard it before and not so long ago. 

“What was that cacophony?” Shale began but Dorian shushed the golem, setting down his dinner and rising to his feet. The mage reached for the staff at his back and brought it forth, ears craning, heart beating steadily.

The scream rose again, issued from somewhere deep within Skyhold. An ambler light began flickering from beneath the kitchen staff’s back entrance, just across the lawn from Dorian and Shale.

“Beasts from blackness,” came a frantic voice to Dorian’s right, making the man nearly jump out of his skin. “Bold and bloodied, they emerge at his bidding. We took what was his and he can no longer afford us to have it.”

“Cole!” Dorian uttered the boy’s name like a swear. 

Shale sighed wistfully. “And this had the makings of a pleasant evening.”

“We have to help,” said Cole in a quivering voice. “They’re inside! Teeth tearing, blood everywhere-”

“I’m right behind you,” Dorian replied, heart pounding in his ears. “Coming, Shale?”

“I suppose,” the golem said ruefully. “Popping a few heads like overripe tomatoes has a certain appeal.”

Dorian and Cole sprinted across the lawn, making their way to the kitchen entrance, Shale just behind, the ground quaking in their strides. 

“What can you tell me about these beasts?” Dorian called to Cole as they ran.

“Rebellion, regret, revolution. Be ready. Sheep for the slaughter, only by sacrifice will their world become real.”

“Lovely,” replied Dorian as he briskly pushed the back doors open with his shoulder. 

“Going for the dramatics, I see? It would be faster if it let me open the doors,” Shale said. 

The light, Dorian realized as he ran into the kitchens, wasn’t coming from the kitchen itself, but from somewhere deeper inside the castle. He could hear screams and shouts echoing in the distance. The trio dove through the kitchens, into the small chapel next to it, and down a side corridor toward the servant’s quarters, the beating heart of the commotion. 

Two serving girls emerged from around a corner, running at full tilt. They were still dressed in their night clothes, and Dorian spied splotches of crimson across their cotton gowns. 

“They’re coming!” one of them screamed as a dark shadow loomed behind them. It spread like fog, filling the space with impenetrable darkness, rapidly building and gushing toward the party. 

“Get behind!” Dorian shouted to the servants who threw themselves to shelter behind the golem.

The fog spun, twisting together to form muscular haunches, pulling forward from the void a great hound. The beast was the color of obsidian glass and built like a wolf, but it had no fur. Instead, it was coated in a scaly skin that was pulled taught over protruding bones, its eyes wine red and many in number. 

The beast shrieked and lunged, but it was met with a mighty backhand across the jaw by Shale who whipped it into the wall with a single motion. The hound hit the stone with such force it made a crack, and immediately the creature burst into wisps of smoke.

“That wasn’t so terrible,” Shale said, almost disappointed. “Vile creatures, dogs. But at least these don’t explode into all sorts of disgusting liquids.”

“What’s happened?” Dorian said to the two serving girls. One had collapsed to the ground, no older fourteen, maybe fifteen, her eyes white and bloodshot, mouth hanging open as if she were silently screaming. The other was a few years older and whispered to her fellow in Elvish, forehead pressed to the girl’s cheek.

Dorian knelt down and gently repeated the question. The older girl looked up, blinking tears from her eyes. 

“W-we were attacked,” she said, chin trembling, “Hounds, large things. You saw. They dragged some of us away. Those who fought back or ran-” Eyes pooling with tears, she looked down at the blood across her nightdress, shaking. 

“Do you know where they came from?” 

The young woman slowly shook her head. 

“They just appeared.”

“From shadow sideways they slide, summoned here when the time is right,” Cole said.

“Summoned? So an inside job?” Dorian asked the rogue, who gave a short nod.

“Probably.”

“Vishante kaffas!” the mage spat. “Listen to me, get out of here as quickly as you can. Head toward the kitchens,” he whispered in a rush to the serving girls as Cole darted down the hallway to peer around the corner. “Find Cullen if you can. I’m not sure anyone has alerted our Commander to what’s going on.” The older girl nodded hurriedly, lifting her friend up and egging her to press on. They staggered away and out of sight.

“Remind me to have a chat with our Lady Nightingale about spies in Skyhold when this is over,” Dorian said as he, Cole, and Shale carried on down the hall. The shouting grew louder, growls and hisses mingling with the cries of the injured or trapped from a room coming up on their right. A hound sprang from the doorway, a woman caught in its teeth. It bounded away from them, toward the servant’s quarters further on. Cole darted after it. 

“I’ve got her,” he called over his shoulder and was gone before either companion could respond. 

Shale and Dorian hurried into the room. Tables, beds, and nightstands lay topped or smashed across the floor. Blood soaked bed sheets littered the floor. The body of one girl had been dragged across the floor, a smear of crimson following to her resting place at the base of the wall, her eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling above. A fireplace roared opposite them, and it seemed to brighten as the mage crossed the threshold, his anger making the air twang with rippling energy.

Five hounds paced the floor, bearing their large and deadly fangs as they circled a group of four servants standing back to back. Each carried a makeshift weapon, a chair leg or a poker for the fire. The hounds paused as the newcomers entered, and two of the five split from the pack to turn on Dorian and Shale, while the other dogs pressed in on their captives.

Shale took the nearest, trying again a back hand, but the beast was swift and feigned right before making for Shale’s left.

“As if its snapping teeth could hurt me,” the golem rumbled, slightly amused, as the dog fastened its jaws around their fist. Shale gripped the dog by its hind leg, lifted it into the air, and flung it down upon the hard floor. Dorian heard the walloping impact, the floor shuddering as the earth quaked beneath Shale’s strength.

Dorian twirled his staff, calling fire to him as the second beast lunged. He aimed the tip of his staff at its chest and blasted it back. The beast flew across the room, still in one piece but far enough away for Dorian to try and scatter the others in its pack. 

The three other dogs darted and sprung back and forth with the servants who had all so far managed to keep form. Dorian aimed another ball of flame at the hound nearest him. It dodged the blast, but the servants jumped as the flame swept past them. Dorian swore loudly.

“Stay together!” he shouted. But the momentary break was all the beasts needed. One dove and caught a man by his ankle, swiftly diving back toward the entry. Another threaded itself between the rest, honing its attention on an older woman holding a fire poker and driving her against the wall. Strings of saliva dripped between its exposed teeth, a guttural growl filling the air as the old woman cried piteously and waved the poker. The dog Dorian had previously hit, accompanied by one other, advanced on the remaining two servants.

“Shale!” Dorian called, pointing to the door.

“Right,” the golem called back, moving its large body to block the exit. Dorian aimed another ball of fire at the dog hunting the old woman. It was too close quarters for the mage to risk anything more explosive or flashy. He was just as likely to hit one of the people he intended to save. 

The hound caught the spell in its flank and rounded on the man. Shreds of smoke floated from its mouth, its eyes glittering. The elder woman cried out and dove for cover as the wolf made for Dorian. The two spilled over, Dorian just getting his staff up and between them in time as his back hit the stone floor. His arms shook as the hound bore down, teeth inches from his face, its breath hot, sickly sweet, and stale as death. Dorian breathed deep and exhaled a plume of fire that startled the hound. Moving quickly, he adjusted his grip on the staff and put a hand to the beast’s breast. 

An electric blue glyph appeared beneath the mage’s fingers, spinning as rapidly as the hands on a mad clock, the runes and dials flashing by as blurry lines forked along the animal’s torso. The glyph ignited with a flash, ice exploding up and into the hound. It let out a high wail that made Dorian’s eardrums ring, and it burst into a thousand strings of ash as a shower of ice and water fell over the mage. 

As hastily as he could, Dorian scrambled to his feet and whipped his attention to the remaining beasts. The one holding the captive man was playing a game of keepaway with the golem, dancing and weaving just out of reach while the man in its mouth bled, his head lolling between his shoulders. The other two hounds had two of the servants backed against a wall, one beast having fastened its mouth around one of the girl’s legs while her friend gripped her by the arms, refusing to let her go.

_Now would be a good time for Cole to reappear,_ Dorian thought as he called upon lightning. And just as those thoughts passed, the hiss of an arrow sped by his ear. He heard the arrow sink into the flesh of one of the hounds who let out a whimpering cry. Another arrow hissed behind him.

Dorian spun his staff, slamming its butt into the floor. A bolt of electricity arced from the ceiling and into the beast shot by the arrow nearest him. It released the girl’s leg while its fellow turned and rounded on Dorian. Another arrow flew past Dorian’s ear, and he took that as a sign to let the magic fly. He sent bolt after bolt into the wolves as they pressed toward him. The ground shook beneath Dorian as Shale moved between the mage and beasts, and with a mighty backhand, felled them both. 

Dorian breathed heavily, suddenly exhausted. His shoulder and lower back throbbed from where they’d hit the ground, his body all too eager to remind him of his mortality.

“Alas, I’m getting too old for this,” Dorian lamented. 

“It is good to find you both still alive.” Leliana stood in the doorway behind Shale and Dorian, bow in hand. 

“Lady Nightingale,” Dorian inclined his head, rolling his shoulder. “Am I glad to see you.”

“As if such mongrels could end me,” Shale said dismissively. 

“What’s happened? What do you know?” she demanded, plucking her arrows off the ground and sticking them back into her quiver.

“We don’t know much. Just that there’s been an attack. Those hounds seem to have been summoned here, and they’re dragging people off to Maker knows where.”

“Summoned here by somebody within Skyhold?” Leliana said, her eyes darting around the room. Two of her agents appeared in the doorway and briskly flanked their leader.

“Cole seemed to think so,” replied Dorian.

“Where is he?” she asked. Dorian shook his head.

“I can’t say. He left not long ago, chasing one of the hounds.”

“Let’s see if we can catch up to him. You two,” she turned her attention to her agents who inclined their heads respectfully. “See to the servants here. Give them aid and protection.”

“Yes, Lady,” they said.

“Come.” Leliana jerked her head toward the door and they crept from the room.

“Where is Commander Cullen?” Dorian asked. What he really wanted to ask how the Inquisitor fared, but he decided it was better not to while in the middle of an enemy invasion. Wagging tongues and listening ears made poor bedfellows. 

“Outside,” she replied in a low and hard voice, her body stooped, bow drawn and ready. “It’s worse out there.”

Dorian swallowed, thinking of the little Elvhen girl and the hounds she had spoken of. He hoped she yet lived.


	18. Chapter 18

“Did you know, Inquisitor, that the Elvhen gods could sometimes take the form of dragons?” Wynne asked conversationally as they observed her memory. From their hiding spot behind a stack of barrels propped against a house, the two women watched as spirit doppelgangers of Wynne and The Hero of Ferelden charged into the middle of town and were met with swords by angry townsfolk. The resounding clang of metal against metal made Lavellan’s ears ring. 

“Of course,” Lavellan said over the din. “My clan used to tell tales of Mythal taking the form of a dragon.”

_ She is the highest of the dragons.  _ Lavellan felt an itch starting at the back of her neck. 

“It is interesting, is it not, that this human Cult of Andraste also worshipped a High Dragon. Where do you think they learned such a thing?” 

“I don’t understand what you mean?” Lavellan frowned. “I suppose people have worshipped dragons for as long as dragons and people have existed. I imagine the power dragons represent is appealing.”

“Perhaps. I think the desire for power is part of it, but not all yearn for power. These cultists were quite happy to be left alone and outside of the world’s order. Somebody in this cult long ago had the idea to worship a dragon, and the villagers listened.” The old mage’s eyes sparkled. “The question still remains, who was the first to plant that seed, and more importantly, where did they come to pick it up?”

“It is fascinating,” Lavellan said with uncertainty, still unsure of what the old woman was hinting at. The Inquisitor felt a little like a child back at her Keeper’s feet, being quizzed over spell combinations. She decided to change the conversation.

“I remember hearing a dragon cult occupied Haven before we did, but I learned little else about the cultists. It is strange to see Haven, before we called it home.” 

“Do you not remember what it was like?” Wynne mused with a smile. They moved out from behind the stacks of barrels as the last of the ghostly townspeople fell. The sky above churned like an angry ocean, and Lavellan couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive, looking at Wynne out of the side of her eye as they spoke.

“Vaguely,” Lavellan frowned as she tried to remember. “But most of my memories are about what happened after the explosion. Like the spiders.”

Wynne laughed. “Yes, there were quite a few of them in the old ruins. But what you see now,” Wynne gestured to her spirit likeness. “Is a memory of when myself and a few companions sought the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

“Is that what you brought me here to see? The Urn?” Lavellan felt her heart quicken in tempo. 

“Not quite,” the old mage said, jerking her head up the winding road toward the Temple. “We seek a different memory held within this old ruin.”

“What memory if not the Urn?” 

“The memory of somebody close to Andraste. Come, let us press on.”


	19. Chapter 19

Into the depths of Skyhold Dorian, Shale, and Leliana dove, and room to room they searched. The attack had been swift and deadly, most of the quarters cleared out already, rivers of red running all to the same place, somewhere deep within the castle’s keep. The hounds had grabbed their quarries and ran, leaving behind a wake of destruction and death.

The party headed away from the servants’ wing, plunging into the collapsing dungeons and prisons. It was dark down here, no lights lit to lead the way. Dorian called flame to him and set the torches along the wall ablaze. The hall before them was narrow, just barely enough room for Shale to squeeze in. Some of the cells were in working order, others fallen inward by boulders and rubble. It was then they spotted Cole, kneeling low with his daggers plunged into the side of a hellish hound that shuddered and melted into the blackness around.

“Cole!” Dorian shouted. The rogue stood up, turning to face his companions. A gash ran down the side of his face, spanning from his hairline to his chin. It bled freely and made his pale skin seem all the more ghostly. An Elvhen woman lay with her back propped against the wall, a hand clutched over her stomach, torn open and in tatters. She gasped uncomfortably, trying to steady her shaking body. 

“Y-you saved me,” she rasped to Cole, reaching out to him with trembling fingers.

“Hush,” the rogue whispered, crouching beside her. “You're safe now. The beasts can’t hurt you anymore.” The woman gave a lopsided smile, her eyes flickering and rolling in her head.

“I can stem the bleeding,” Dorian said quickly, dropping to his knees by her side. “But she’ll need a proper healer.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cole said as the mage gingerly pressed his fingers to her abdomen. The woman’s eyes grew bright from pain, a hiss of air pushed through gritted teeth, sweat running down her clammy face. Then she relaxed as magic coursed through her, the worst of her wound stitching itself back together. 

“Bleh,” Shale commented. “More putrid liquids. The flesh creatures are so fragile.”

“What do you know, Cole?” Leliana said to the rogue as Dorian finished his work.

“We are close,” Cole said quickly, looking eagerly at the entryway leading to the next room. “They took more people. I couldn’t save them all. Bodies bandaged and bruised, or else bled out. We should hurry. They won’t be here much longer.” 

“Sleep,” Dorian whispered to the woman. A pearly white mist emanated from his palm, spreading over the woman who looked at it in wonder before her eyelids fluttered shut, her body going slack. “Shale, do you mind lifting her out of the way?”

Shale sighed heavily, as if they would rather do anything else. “Fine, but I am not its pack mule.” All the same, the golem gently lifted the sleeping woman, laying her body carefully in an open cell. 

“She’ll be alright for now,” Cole said with a satisfied nod.

“Let’s go,” Leliana growled, walking through the open entryway and into the next room. 

They came to a crossroads, a square room whose walls were carved from the bedrock of the mountain itself. Directly across and to the left of them were other entryways, leading down more dark corridors. Dorian summoned fire to light a single hanging lamp on the ceiling. The glistening trail bent left, but Cole charged ahead instead.

“Shouldn’t we follow the trail of vile liquids?” Shale asked the group. “It appears the Eerie Child has made a run for it.”

“We should probably follow Cole,” Dorian advised. “He seems to know a great deal about these beasts.”

“Spirits, perhaps?” Leliana wondered as they raced after the rogue who was a shadowy blur ahead. 

“Seems a likely explanation,” Dorian replied. 

“More mages, then? Lovely. How they do enjoy getting themselves possessed. At least it hasn’t summoned an army of demon birds," said Shale as they rumbled behind, shaking free dust and debris from the ceiling above.

Dorian chose not to comment, biting his tongue. The trio stopped abruptly. 

Barking and growling surrounded them, the group unable to see beyond the glow of Dorian’s staff. The sheen of white fangs glinted in the dark, a hundred eyes refracting. The darkness was thick, and though the mage tried to call upon fire to light the room, no light appeared, obscured by the twisting mists.

“They’re around us. This is where they begin.” Cole appeared at Dorian’s side. “The mage should be in the next room.” 

“Shale and Cole, think you can hold them off?” Dorian asked. “Leliana and I will cut our way to the door while you both hold the room.”

“We can do that,” Cole said.

“Can we?” Shale replied. 

“Do it,” Leliana commanded and let her arrows fly. Dorian called forth a jet of fire while Shale and Cole stood back to back and began their onslaught against the mass of pressing, scaly bodies. 

The inferno tore forward, flashes of amber illuminating Dorian and Leliana’s path. Arrow after arrow sped by Dorian, who tried his best not to flinch. The hounds cried and kept out of their direct line of fire. Leliana swiveled left and right, pinging beasts as they sprung or kicking them to the floor with a swift heel. Even still, it was impossible to fight the tide, and for every hound they pushed away, another took its place. 

Sweat ran down Dorian’s face, the heat of the fire and effort of focus difficult to maintain. His head suddenly felt fuzzy, and the jet of flame sharply narrowed to a thin stream. A prickle of panic stirred in his stomach, alarmed by just how fatigued he felt. Then pain erupted in his side. The mage cried out, in shock and agony, as he saw a large hound sink its teeth into him. It pulled Dorian down easily, thrashing its large head and tossing the mage like a paper doll. 

Dorian lifted his staff and drove the end of it into the beast’s eye socket. It yelped and released him as an arrow from Leliana buried itself in its breast. Dorian aimed a shock of ice at the creature, and it shuddered into nothingness. Dorian felt the Spymaster’s hand on his collar, pulling him up forcefully. He clutched his side as he leaned into her, feeling warm blood ooze between his finger tips.

Pointing his staff, Dorian summoned what mana he could muster and let a large cone of fire spray ahead of them in a last effort to clear a path to the door. Leliana charged forward, adrenaline urging them on. She reached the door, wrenched it open, and dove inside. Dorian let himself fall to the ground once they passed the threshold and kicked the door shut with a forceful boot.

The room itself was fairly barren, a few crates stacked against a wall. In the center of it was a painted circle, and at its core was, who Dorian presumed, the mage responsible for this mess. She was dressed in a black robe, the circle beneath her feet glowing green. It was a complex spell. Dorian could feel the intertwining runes and intentions carved into each symbol on the ground, carefully thought out. It would have taken weeks to construct.

But while Dorian was preoccupied with his wound and the magic in the air, Leliana wasted little time. She let fire an arrow without hesitation, and it met its mark in the mage’s extended right palm. The mage, so focused on the spell, hadn’t noticed their entry. Her eyes flew open as the arrow ripped through her hand, and she screamed, the magics beginning to dissipate. Leliana let fly another arrow, hitting the woman in the knee. She collapsed as the cartilage and bone split, her leg unable to keep her standing.

The Spymaster strode into the circle and pressed her heel into the woman’s knee. The mage flung back her head and wailed in agony, her face white as death.

“Traitor,” Leliana hissed in a deadly whisper. The woman breathed heavily.

“Fen’Harel ma halam,” the summoner spat. Leliana wrinkled her nose and smashed the edge of her bow against the woman’s skull. The mage immediately crumpled to the ground; Dorian couldn’t tell if she was alive or not.

“Is it over?” Leliana asked coldly. 

“The spell is dying, if that’s what you mean,” Dorian said breathlessly.

The Spymaster didn’t respond but ripped the hem of her shirt into a long strip of cloth and bound the woman’s hands tightly. She tore another long piece and wrapped it around her mouth.

“How are you?” the Spymaster said, not looking up from her work.

“I’ll live,” Dorian replied, his voice quivering with a little bit of fear. 

“Good,” Leliana tightened the binds with a final snap of the cloth and let the woman roll to the ground. “I will assist Cole and Shale and be back to deal with the mage personally.”

Dorian shuddered as Leliana strode past him and into the other room.

He leaned his back heavily against the wall, feeling his side. The wound was fairly deep, he noted, but Dorian felt too cloudy in the head to cast even a simple healing spell. Indeed, he could no longer hear the whisper of the glowing glyph on the ground, the magical energy in the air snuffed out. His staff, too, he realized, had gone out. Numbness settled in, and he followed the Spymaster’s example, hastily tearing away strips of cloth to fashion a makeshift bandage. The Bull would kill him if he died now. Dorian chuckled a little under his breath, his body feeling very heavy as he fumbled to tie the cloth. His head fell limply to his chest.


	20. Chapter 20

_**[Cullen's desk is strewn with numerous letters and reports, scrawled hastily]** _

**Inquisition**

**Damage Report**

**9:49 Firstfall 13**

_Divine Victoria,_

_It is with great sorrow that I write to inform you of an attack on Skyhold from within. We have regained control of the castle, but not without injury._

_Not three nights after your departure, a zealot of Fen’Harel was discovered too late amongst our numbers. They summoned a large number of demons to invade the castle. The demons killed and kidnapped a great many of our men and women. We were able to push back the invasion when the mage responsible was taken into custody, but the casualties are high, as you will see below._

_All of our core members, thankfully, remain with us. Leliana plans a visit to Val Royeaux in the next few days to meet with you and the Mothers._

_Respectfully,_

_Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen Rutherford_

**_Casualties_ ** _:_

_Missing - 67_

_Injured - 42_

_Dead - 53_

  
  


**Inquisition**

**Mission Report 9:49 Firstfall 13**

**Judgement - Iona Martheriel**

_One day ago, our Spymaster, Magister Dorian Pavus, the Golem Shale, and Cole, apprehended a dangerous mage and servant of Fen’Harel. The mage was responsible for summoning a demon army into Skyhold, which resulted in the injury, kidnapping, and deaths of 162 servants, nobles, refugees, and Peace Keepers._

_Leliana’s agents learned from the surviving staff that the spy had been hired some months ago as a kitchen hand. We do not know, at this time, if additional information on the Inquisition was passed to Fen’Harel during her tenure._

_Leliana hoped this would be an opportunity to turn one of Fen’Harel’s agents against him, but Martheriel’s loyalty has proved unwavering. Rather than risk another breach in security, she was turned over to the Peace Keepers for punishment, and execution has been deemed necessary. Execution is set for tomorrow morning._

_-Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen Rutherford_


	21. Chapter 21

Dorian’s eyes blurred open. He must have passed out after the battle. He’d been moved, he realized quickly, to the main hall. A mage stood above him, hands glowing as they wove a spell through him. 

“Have you ever had trouble casting magic?” Dorian blurted out as his senses sluggishly returned. The mage blinked but didn’t answer. The magister rested his head against the cold ground, his temples pounding. He still felt drained, though that could be blood loss.

“You’re awake,” came a voice to his right. Dorian flinched.

“Cole,” he whispered. He turned his gaze to the boy. Cole’s face was bandaged where he’d been cut, his arm too wrapped in gauze. “You manage alright?” 

“Shale was best at it,” Cole commented, and Dorian nodded.

“Our stone friend is rather sturdy,” the magister agreed. 

“We need to leave Skyhold,” Cole said abruptly. Dorian looked at him, feeling what little blood he had left leave his face. “It was  _ his _ castle long ago. It isn’t safe anymore. More will come.”

“Talk to Leliana,” Dorian whispered. “And maybe keep your voice down. We don’t want any more of a panic.”

“I already did,” replied Cole, there was a pause, and then Cole went on. “She survived.” 

“Who?” Dorian asked, confused.

“The girl with eyes like a fawn. Legs tremble, she shakes at the memory and wakes at night to screams in her head. They followed her here, she’s certain of it.”

“Ah,” Dorian murmured, and then said. “And her family?” The mage’s heart beat quickly.

Cole tilted his head, listening for a moment. “She still has her mamae, but she misses her sister and brother. She doesn’t know yet they won’t return. Her father died when the wolves first came. She saw it happen.”

Dorian’s chin trembled. He placed a palm over his face, a shuddering sob shaking his chest. 

“Remind me to find her,” Dorian managed. “Once I’m better. Prettier.”

“You won’t forget,” Cole replied. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Chant of Light - Canticle of Andraste 1:2-1:3**

_Night ‘pon night spake World-Maker_

_To me, and dream ‘pon dream_

_Did He give revelation_

_That I should take to kinsmen and clan_

_So that we may honor true remembrance of He._

_My heart open’d, lay bare_

_And impart’d He the treachery of the Old Ones._

_Jealous were they of World-Maker’s creations_

_Spirit’d pretenders from beyond Veil_

_They who bent blood and bargain’d with Man_

_And enter’d the City of Gold._

_Their sins stain’d gold to black_

_Cursed from heavens were they by He._

_For says He, “Twas I who shap’d the world before thee now,_

_And struck the Old Ones a mighty blow.”_

_Cried I: “Oh World-Maker,_

_But how shall we undo what we have sunder’d?”_

_Command’d He: “Wife of mine, make allies of the Elvhen_

_And take arms against the Imperium. Listen to Me,_

_And make the world sorrowful no more.”_

* * *

The temple itself was more breathtaking in the Fade than Lavellan could remember in her waking memory. Pearl colored stone ceilings reached upward toward the heavens as silvery light poured in great streaks from above. Fade dust shimmered at the edges of the temple’s entrance chamber, illuminating finely etched carvings telling the stories of antiquity. Somehow though, at least to Lavellan, the temple, Haven, this whole place, felt more real in the Fade than it did all those years ago at the Conclave and after. 

“Many memories have built this temple in the Fade,” Wynne said. “It lasted centuries, preserved in our world against many foes. That kind of permanence has resonance here.” 

“This tells of Andraste meeting the Maker,” Lavellan said as she stood below one such carved wall, tracing the story with a finger, feeling the rough etching digging into the wall. “How the Maker showed her the Black City and revealed to her the treachery of the Old Gods.”

“It tells the Chantry’s story, yes,” Wynne replied with a brief nod. There was something in the way the old mage spoke that gave Lavellan pause.

“Is there more to the story?” Lavellan turned her attention from the wall to the old woman. Wynne’s eyes never left the carvings, and for the first time since their meeting, Lavellan felt that the old mage’s attention was elsewhere. There was sadness in her face, her blue eyes lingering on the carvings above, reading them over and over, almost as if she were searching for something. 

“Are you alright, Wynne?”

“Hm?” Wynne hummed, rousing from her thoughts with a slight start. “Oh, yes. I apologize, Inquisitor. We should press on. Time is of the essence.”

“Lead the way.”

Lavellan asked no more of the old woman as they descended into the temple. Through dark corridors, deep into the mountain side they plunged. Parts of their descent felt familiar, the Inquisitor remembering from years ago her escape from Corypheus as she’d staggered, alone and bloodied, through the heart of the mountain as a blizzard built outside. But Wynne also guided her through new tunnels, a labyrinth of caves that the Inquisitor did not recall.

“How did I not know this all was here?” Lavellan marveled, gazing up at the vaulted stone ceilings dripping with stalactites. 

“Much of this caved in after the Temple was destroyed,” Wynne answered. “Few of the original caves still exist, and only Dreamers can now access the part of the Temple we are headed to.”

Lavellan wanted to ask more, but she decided to let Wynne navigate. Their progress began to track upward and spilled them out across the top of the mountain’s peak. Part of the mountain top had been flattened, the stone shaped into a wide path. Boulders and a stinking sulfur field flanked their way forward, and the Inquisitor raised a sleeve to stem the rotten stench. Opposite to them was a second part of the temple, its entrance carved into an adjoining mountain.

“And here,” Wynne said. “Is where we did battle with the High Dragon. She was an incredible and formidable foe, but you’ve fought quite a few dragons.” 

The Inquisitor bowed her head modestly. “Just a few.” 

Wynne chuckled. 

“Have you thought anymore about the dragon cult, Inquisitor?” 

“Only that it seems an interesting coincidence such a cult would form where Andraste’s remains were placed. Or maybe it wasn’t at all a coincidence. It is natural for people to want to believe she would return to them, even as a dragon.”

“Perhaps it is a natural inclination, more natural than people realize,” Wynne said, leading them onward and across the mountain top. “There is a history here that predates Andraste. A history that is remembered.”

“Another imprint in the Fade, you mean?” 

Wynne paused before answering. “In a way. This land belonged to the Dalish long ago, worshippers of Mythal in fact.”

“So the land’s history may have influenced those who later settled here to carry on dragon worship? That the memory bled into the waking world?”

“History,” Wynne said, slightly out of breath from their hike. “Your history and the Chantry’s, is much more intertwined than the world remembers. And it often repeats, in one form or another.” 

Again, the Inquisitor felt as though she were being tested or primed in some way, and she was left feeling uncomfortable under the mage’s eyes. The Elvhen woman shook her head.

“I don’t understand. What are you trying to teach me?” 

“I apologize, Inquisitor," Wynne said. “I realize how cryptic I must be. It will make more sense soon. It isn’t something easily explained.”

“But better experienced?” the Herald finished and Wynne nodded.

“Indeed.”

The Inquisitor took a breath, feeling the need to mentally brace herself for whatever was to come. They pressed onward and into a second part of the temple. Spirits lay about them, pretending to be fallen cultists or darkspawn, the debris left behind as the memory of Wynne’s party cut their path forward. After passing more doorways, spirits, and ruin, Lavellan and Wynne finally came to the mouth of a large chamber, and the old mage stopped.

“We have arrived,” Wynne breathed. “The Gauntlet, just before the Urn.” The old woman placed a hand on the old stone archway and closed her eyes. “My,” she breathed. “How _different_ it feels to be back.”

“Different?” Lavellan asked, coming to stand by Wynne’s side. “Has the Fade changed some part of the Gauntlet?”

“The Fade hasn’t changed,” Wynne paused. “I do not relish what is to come, Inquisitor. My Spirit of Faith led us both here, and there is somebody we must speak with.”

“Who is this person?” asked the Herald although she knew Wynne would not say.

Wynne gestured for the Inquisitor to follow. They crossed the threshold of the large stone archway. It was a cavernous chamber, stony and dark, illuminated in the Fade by the eerie blue light of Veilfire. Intricate alcoves were dug into the walls left and right of Wynne and the Inquisitor, and within each alcove flickered a translucent figure, still and staring. Ghosts. Opposite the two travelers were two large stone doors, sealed with powerful pulsing magics that Lavellan felt reverberating in her bones. 

Wynne walked a little ways down the gauntlet and pointed to an alcove to their left. 

“Here,” Wynne said. Lavellan paused at Wynne’s shoulder, eyeing the pale figure before them. An elf, to Lavellan’s surprise. The man was bald, his face drawn and thin, eyes weary even in death. His rogue’s armor bore cracks and patches of stain beneath two arrows that had broken through the man’s defenses, still buried in his breast. At his back was a sword, its hilt visible above his shoulder.

“Shartan? Is this who I’m speaking to? I don’t know of many elves who served with Andraste,” Lavellan said to Wynne, eyeing the dead man with some wariness. The ghost stirred at the sound of the name, his distant eyes snapping to the Elvhen woman before him. 

_“It was my dream for the People to have a home of their own,”_ said the ghost, his voice echoing as if spoken through many layers of time and space. _“Where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we.”_

“What can you tell me about Andraste’s betrayal?” Lavellan asked. “I know of what the Chantry tells us, that she was betrayed by her husband, Maferath, but what else do you know?”

_“It is true,”_ Shartan nodded. ” _Andraste and her allies were betrayed by her mortal husband. But what later became called the Chantry altered many truths, and her history and legacy became twisted.”_

“Explain,” the Inquisitor said. “How did the Chantry change her story?”

The ghost smiled bitterly and drew the sword at his back, holding it aloft with both hands. In memory, the sword was magnificent. It bore a heavy blade, its hilt dark and carved with intricate, swirling patterns that glowed gold at Shartan’s touch. The carvings extended into a blade thick enough to hack through a Genlock’s neck in one sweep. Little lights, dancing in the Fade, gathered around it like, wisps that whispered softly in voices Lavellan could not understand. 

_“Glandivalis,”_ Shartan said. _“Is a sword like no other. It was given to me by Andraste, who first received it from Brona, a gift to protect her daughter from the one Andraste called the Maker.”_

Lavellan hesitated, brow furrowing while a tick pulsed in her neck.

“Why would Andraste need protection from the Maker?” the Herald asked slowly. “I thought that she was His Chosen, His Bride.”

_“In truth, Andraste was never in any danger. Understand, Brona of the Alamarri worried over her daughter’s fate, and she knew no other gods but her own. Brona did not trust this Maker, who she dreamed would lead her daughter to her death, a god who claimed to have made sleep other gods of old. Even if there was a single Maker, surely He would not lead an innocent woman to her death. A pretender, Brona worried. A trickster sent to doom her daughter and her people. But, Glandivalis could protect Andraste from such a being, and her daughter passed that weapon to me.”_

“Did you stay, then, to protect Andstraste and keep her safe? What do you know of the Maker?”

“ _As I said, Andraste was never in any danger from the Maker_.” Shartan’s eyes flashed. “ _As for what I know, I know_ _that I too served Him well along side Andraste, though she never knew the full extent of her service._ _I was servant to the only god who truly sought to liberate both our peoples from the Imperium, whatever the cost, and never was I so proud._ ”

Then it clicked. Lavellan’s heart hammered in her throat. “And by “people”, which people are you referring to?”

Shartan bowed his head. _“All who were enslaved, her own tribe, and more importantly, my People. Your People. Is it any wonder the Chantry scrubbed me so thoroughly from the Chant of Light in the years that followed?”_

“You were an agent of Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel pretended to be a god to win allies against Tevinter. It was all a trick?” the Elvhen woman whispered. Lavellan’s ears were ringing as though thunder had crashed all around them. Stunned into momentary silence, realizing now what Shartan must mean, the pieces sliding into place, the Inquisitor looked back at Wynne imploringly. The old woman was concentrated on the Elvhen man and seemed not to notice the Inquisitor. Lavellan searched Wynne’s face, looking for anger or confusion, but found only more of the same sadness, her eyes glimmering with unfallen tears. Lavellan’s heart plummeted into her gut. 

“ _The enemy of my enemy is my friend,”_ Shartan repeated. “ _Our goals were the same, and it mattered little who the Maker was, so long as the power was real. Surely, the one who shaped her world, who was more powerful than the spirits her people worshipped, more powerful than the absent Elvhen gods made to sleep, more powerful than Tevinter’s gods made to sleep, could save her and everyone she cared for?”_

Lavellan’s eyes darted back and forth as she thought and processed, her stomach twisting, “No, it matters a great deal who the Maker was,” she said, her voice strained. “You don’t understand. Th-this lie...This incredible lie-” anger boiled inside her, writhing inside like an angry snake, her voice shaking with fury. She felt sick, manipulated, thoughts flying through her head. “Why? How could he...anyone...do that? Is there nobody, nothing, that he is not willing to use? This lie _shaped_ Thedas!” Her voice rose, bouncing from wall to floor, all around them, echoing. 

“ _He offered Andraste power and she took it. The Chantry then chose what to remember and what to forget.”_

She thought of Solas and felt the familiar sharp sting of betrayal. For a man who claimed he never pretended to be a god, those words now rang incredibly hollow. Solas had allowed the people of Thedas to unknowingly revere him, an Evanuris and a man, a man who was now bent on their destruction. And the people worshipped him, believing he might save them. Surely, Solas could have done something to prevent his ascension to godhood if he truly didn’t want to be remembered as a god. And the Inquisitor thought too of the lie delivered unto her, marking her forever in history as the _Herald of Andraste._ She felt like a fool. 

“ _The Chantry is the true deciever,”_ Shartan said. _“They removed the truth when they learned of it, removed my stories, and made Andraste a martyr. They uplifted only humankind from her death and subjugated our own. And in the end I failed her and Fen’Harel, and our People still suffer.”_ The ghost hung his head, his chest shaking.

“I don’t care what justification you tell yourself or whose fault this was!” the Inquisitor snarled. “This revelation could rip apart nations and now has very real consequences. Fen’Harel seeks to tear down the Veil and in doing so destroy our world. We must stop him, and I cannot afford for our allies to collapse in on themselves. This sword,” the woman snapped, her chest rising and falling with emotion. “Where is it? Where can I find Glandivalis?”

Shartan paused, his face drawn. “ _And what would you do with it?”_ he asked. _“Strike down Fen’Harel? Prevent our People from the freedom they deserve?”_

“I would stop Fen’Harel and stop him from destroying the world. To save the elves at the expense of everyone else makes us no better than those who have oppressed us,” Lavellan growled, her chest rumbling. “I would use the truth I learned here and seek a better fate for our People. Anything else is just history repeating itself and there is no freedom in that.”

Shartan considered this, studying the Inquisitor’s face.

_“You would seek to right the wrongs done long ago,”_ he said thoughtfully. _“Fen’Harel’s and the Chantry’s. That is commendable, and I believe you, lethallan. Maybe you can help the People in a way we couldn’t. The sword has come and gone through the pages of history, it lost from me at my death, to resurface when needed centuries later. It was in Kirkwall for a time, but has since departed for the land that took everything from Andraste and the Elvhen._ ”

“Tevinter, then,” Lavellan stated and the ghost said no more.


End file.
